


Domestic Rickscipline

by eastcoastlighthouse, gothboobs



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Nudity, Humiliation, Impact Play, Incest, M/M, Non-erotic spanking, Spanking, Spanking Machines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 155,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastcoastlighthouse/pseuds/eastcoastlighthouse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothboobs/pseuds/gothboobs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an unfortunate mishap in the garage, Beth and Jerry find themselves back in their teenage bodies. Rick is displeased, and decides that as the new head of the household, it's time to institute some old-fashioned disciplinary measures.</p><p>Based on an RP - will be updated regularly!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start of the Affair

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is what happens when two spanking fiends get together and decide to let it all hang out. Expect a lot of spanking and other assorted depravities.

"Be quiet!" Jerry stumbled into the garage, pulling his wife with him by the wrist. His face was flushed, both with the four beers he'd slammed back in quick succession and a certain heady giddiness. He didn't usually intrude on Rick's space, and when he did, it was never with anything quite as nefarious as this in mind. Still, Beth just _wouldn't stop giggling,_ and although he was sure Rick and Morty were off somewhere in the multiverse, he was terrified of being caught.

As his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the garage, he spotted something that looked perfect for their purposes - an old-fashioned, upholstered sofa, suspended from a frame. It seemed more like the kind of thing you'd find in an old person's garden than in the semi-secret lab of a criminal genius, but then again - his father-in-law was full of surprises, wasn't he?

"Okay," he whispered, pulling Beth closer to him as he walked towards the sofa, "Beth, I'm gonna... I'm gonna make love to you _so good_ tonight." Somehow his voice was dripping with a smarmy confidence that he usually didn't exhibit in the bedroom. Perhaps there was something about encroaching on Rick Sanchez's territory that just really did it for him.

"Oooh, I _know_ you will, Jer--" Beth drunkenly snickered and fell forward slightly, crashing into her husband's chest and snorting with laughter. She had teased Jerry for getting drunk so easily as his tolerance was shit, but then in her hurry to catch up, she had downed two whole bottles of pinot, and now she was more of a stumbling, giggly mess than he was.

Oh well. She let Jerry lead her to the strange couch and with a completely goofy, but somehow charming flourish; he picked her up and laid her down dramatically on the couch. "Wow, Jerry," Beth raised an eyebrow and snarked as she hurriedly stripped off her shirt, "Y-you're never like this upstairs, I guess we should fuck on top of dad's stuff more often."

Drunkenly, she rolled onto her upper back, unzipped her jeans and tossed them off with a randy smile, "well, what are you waiting for, stud? I'm hungry for _Jerryyy,_ " she slurred.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Jerry rambled, tripping over his own feet in an attempt to get out of his pants and quickly as possible. He was still mystified that he'd ever been able to land someone as hot as Beth in high school, but even now that they were both getting on a bit she was still out of his league by a mile - and yet here she was, practically _begging_ for it.

"You're so beautiful," he mumbled as he hurriedly pulled down his briefs, and - hard as a rock already - kneeled on the other end of the sofa, giving his dick a few tugs to get it ready. "You're... god, Beth..." He swallowed hard (vividly remembering the last time he'd teared up while they were having sex, and how long and how relentlessly she'd mocked him for it) and bent over her, kissing her on the neck, one hand on the sofa to stabilize him, the other drunkenly groping her between her legs.

"You're so ready," he moaned - perhaps more at himself than at her - and bracing himself, slowly guided his cock into her. "C'mon, say it again," he said, sweat dripping down his forehead. "Say my name!"

Even completely drunk, Beth had the wherewithal to hold back from rolling her eyes at Jerry's insipid adoration for her. Sure, it meant she was in total control of her husband 99% of the time, but sometimes a girl needed a firmer hand, and lord knows Jerry couldn't provide that.

His eager pawing at her groin was unprincipled and erratic so she slipped her hand down to join his, pushing aside her damp panties to rub her slicked folds of skin as Jerry pressed into her, slow at first, but then thrusting forward, unable to control himself as he begged to hear his name in her mouth.

"Yeah, _Jerryyyyy?_ Huh, you like hearing that?" Beth angled her legs wider apart so he had more room to thrust and she wrapped her hands around his neck. Okay, so he was a tiny bit cute, she had to admit... "C'mon, big boy, gimme somethin' to remember, Jerryyyy."

She dragged out the last syllable, staring up at her husband with a smirk and grinding against him. At least after years of practice they were reasonably good at sex with each other.

"Ohhh god," Jerry groaned, a delirious grin on his face. He would never get enough of this - not ever. He could only dream that he would have been able to bed such a pliant Beth back when they were still young and supple - as it stood, he knew he would definitely not be lasting long. Oh, he could definitely delay his orgasm for a while, but his biceps were already trembling with supporting his entire weight. Maybe he shouldn't have pounded back those beers after all. He self-consciously sucked in his belly.

As he fucked his wife, their combined motion slowly got the sofa rocking to and fro. However, half-delirious with booze and testosterone, Jerry wasn't aware of anything except how tight Beth felt (and after two kids, too - maybe those locker room conversations had all been wrong and he really was well-endowed!) and how much his arms hurt and how much he wanted to at least come before they totally gave out. Maybe get Beth off too before that happened. Not a total necessity, but it'd be nice.

Still, as the sofa swung back and forth, their surroundings grew blurrier and blurrier, to the point of their bodies being the only thing in focus in the garage. And even that seemed short-lived - Jerry stilled for a moment, as it seemed Beth's wrinkles were receding into her face. Wow. He knew that post-sex glow was a thing, but this seemed unreal...

Boy, Jerry was energetic tonight; even with 4 beers in him he was actually giving her a good fuck, much to Beth’s incredulous surprise. As she matched his thrusts on the couch and felt the seat beneath her sway with their movements she noticed, when did Jerry...lose weight? Had he? He definitely had. His arms seemed tighter, rounder, and the enthusiastic way he humped away reminded her of their high school escapades in the back of his mother's minivan. Beth glanced to the side and immediately felt sick. She must've had too much because the room was a swirling, dimmed mash of colors and turning back to look at her husband she hoped he'd finish soon and roll off her so she could go puke and then guzzle a cup of coffee. Above her, Jerry's face was grinning ear to ear, but as she watched, the crows feet wedged against his eyes seemed to plump up and then disappear. Even in her inebriated state, Beth could tell something was off...but she just found it funny.

"Ahhhn, Jer, god, you--you look so young!" She arched her back so his dick would hit her a little better, "wonder whyyyeehehee--"

She ended in a delirious giggle, wow where did _that_ come from? And felt her cheeks flush mid-coitus...whatever was in that wine, was good stuff. Beth groaned slightly, her first genuine sexual sound of pleasure in months; god she felt like a teenager. She'd have to remember this wine...

Jerry was staring at his wife in rapt attention. She'd always been pretty, but he didn't remember her being quite _this_ pretty. Maybe he was more drunk than he thought? Or maybe she'd started a new beauty regimen... Whatever it was, it was definitely working for her. Her tits were surprisingly perky, too. And when had his arms stopped being so tired?

God, what a perfect fuck - and the perfect end to a perfect evening. Jerry could feel the familiar haze settle over his mind as his cock twitched inside his lovely, lovely wife. A bit too quick perhaps, but at least he hadn't collapsed on top of her before coming, which was definitely worth something. With a satisfied grunt, he came inside her, thrust a few more times for completion's sake. "Take it," he moaned, "take it... take it _all,_ baby..."

When he sat back on his haunches and wiped his forehead, two things immediately became clear:

1\. He had not immediately fallen asleep next to/on top of Beth, as was usually the case after a mild-to-vigorous love-making session.  
2\. His stomach was flat.

Having become intimately familiar with his paunchiness over the past decade-and-a-half, Jerry immediately noticed its absence. Had he fucked his belly away? Was that a thing? He was about to ask Beth if she was seeing what he was seeing, but when he glanced at her, he fell off the sofa instead, and hysterically scrambled to his feet.

"Beth!" he shrieked, instantly - and horrifically - sober. "What the... what happened to you?!"

As Jerry came with a hollow grunt and sat back, Beth stared in shock. Something was definitely wrong and it wasn't funny anymore, it was terrifying. Jerry had lost weight, lost wrinkles, hell, even the few wisps of white hair at his temples had vanished, and perhaps most incredibly of all, his body was lean and tight like it had been in high school when he was a junior varsity track runner and still put effort into his life.

His shocked response to her own appearance had Beth shoving her hands up against her face and hair. Holy shit. The curly blond locks that had loosened into long waves as she got older had returned full-force, and her face--her face felt so smooth, and her skin was supple, glowing even, it was as if...

Beth snapped her head down and stared at her stomach and lower body. The Cesarean scar had vanished. The three tiny little spider veins she had been obsessing about on her left thigh were gone. Her breasts bounced cheerfully with every movement she made.

"JERRY! Beth clambered off the sofa, newly-curly blond hair tousled into a mess as she advanced on her quivering husband, "what the _hell_ did you do!? Did you, god--Jerry, tell me what you did!"

"I didn't do anything!" Jerry was close to tears, hands pressed to his cheeks like some horrid, half-naked parody of _The Scream_. "It's your... it's Rick! Of course it's Rick!" He pointed an accusing finger at the still gently swinging sofa, which looked utterly harmless. "There's something - there's something going on with that sofa!" His voice rose a panicky octave, which was bad enough, but then actually _broke_ on the last syllable of 'sofa' and what he had irrationally suspected became painfully, obviously clear.

Just as he was about to voice his realization to a clearly irate Beth - Jesus, why was _he_ the first person she suspected when she knew her dad was an insane super scientist?! - the garage was bathed in an eerie green light, and the tell-tale crackling of a portal opening had Jerry mutely gasping for air. Oh god. Oh no. Not now.

Sweaty and dirt-stained, Rick and Morty half-stepped, half-fell through the portal. Morty had a bruise on his head the color of a ripe plum, and Rick looked like he had fought his way out of a rehab clinic. "Mom?" Morty squeaked, clutching his head. "D-dad...? What are you...?"

He was roughly shoved to the side by Rick. "Wh-what the - eeeuuurgghhh - FUCK?" Rick bellowed and dragged Jerry to his feet by the collar of his shirt. "Jerry, you miserable piece of shit," he hissed, spittle flying out of his mouth. His gaze - only half-focused - drifted over to Beth, and his eyes narrowed with unconcealed disappointment. "I-I can't... I can't believe this."

Beth readjusted her panties, her arms fluttering to cross themselves in front of her chest with sudden, half-drunk modesty. Goddammit, Morty had to be here too!? She remained planted where she was, dad's manhandling of her husband wasn't something she wanted to invite upon herself.

"Dad, okay, ohh my god--um-" Beth floundered, she wasn't used to feeling this mix of shame, fear, trepidation...she felt like _Jerry_ for heaven's sake! Beth took a shaky step backward and felt the edge of the couch rock against the back of her thigh--no way out. "Dad, look, Jerry and I, weeeeere, just, having some _private_ time and things just got a liiiiittle bit out of hand--"

"EW MOM," Morty slapped his hands over his ears, "Jeez, why the--w-w-why are you guys doing _that_ in here!?"

Beth went on the offensive. She was a grown woman, thank you very much, in her own house, that _she_ paid the mortgage on. "Morty, your father and I are adults, and this is perfectly natural--" Beth paused, her voice sounded so unnaturally youthful, it was weird, "actually, y'know, Morty, why don't you...go get some homework done, you don't need to see this--"

And by 'this' Beth wasn't entirely sure what she meant, but it had been a very long time since she saw her father this annoyed and it unnerved her if she was being honest.

Morty remained where he was, staring at the couch, then back to his parents. His mouth dropped open as he connected the puzzle pieces, "Ohhh my god, mom, y-you and dad de-aged y-yourselves??"

Now it was Beth’s turn to narrow her eyes, "Morty, _get, out._ "

Rick shot Morty a look that was the non-verbal equivalent of _you better haul ass right now_ before unceremoniously dropping Jerry on the ground. "Th-th-this is... th-this is unbelievable. Do I - _eeuugghh_ \- do I need to lock the door to the garage when I leave? Y-you'd think you'd have figured out by now not to mess around in the garage!"

Jerry gingerly crawled to his knees, rubbing at his throat. Voice raspy, he managed: "What's the deal with leaving this kind of stuff in _our_ garage?!" He indicated the sofa with a shaking hand. "How am I supposed to know what kind of, what kind of _weird science_ you get up to in here? It looks like a normal sofa!"

"So you decided to have sex on it?!" Rick's arms trembled. He seemed about ready to strangle one of them (or both).

"Beth's right! What, uh, what we get up to in our free time is, it's totally natural - so just skip the lecture and turn us back!" Jerry glanced at Beth, clearly begging for back-up. Morty he was not so concerned about, but he'd never seen Rick quite this angry.

"There's no undo button on this thing, genius!" Rick spat back, full of venom. "It's... it's not even a prototype! I barely know how it works!"

Beth paled. "You don't know how it _works_ dad!?" She clenched and unclenched her hands, as if she was literally grasping for comprehension. "Why are you keeping dangerous, untested equipment the garage then!?"

Morty, still hadn't left, and was sloooowly making his way to the threshold of the garage, clearly trying to stick around long enough to witness whatever was about to happen. "Jeez mom, y-y-y'know, Rick kept it in the garage so it _wouldn't_ do anything to anybody."

Beth fumed; her dad could talk down to her all he wanted, but certainly not her child, "well clearly that precaution didn't work, Morty, seeing as how your father and I have been changed into--into _teenagers_ for God's sake!! And didn't I just tell you to get out of the garage?" She turned back to her father, who was glaring at them both; his gaze shifting from Jerry to her, and back again with a cold, calculating expression. "Dad, I really don't appreciate you keeping things like this around children, you really aught to be more responsible." In a softer voice she pleaded, "please, can't you...can't you invent something or make a potion or do something to me and Jerry to fix this??"

"Morty, leave," Rick hissed. "I need to have a talk with y-your _parents_." From his tone it was clear enough that after their little misadventure, they really were little more than teenagers in his eyes. Roughly shoving Morty out the door and locking it behind him, he turned on his daughter and his son-in-law, drawing up to his full height. Although he looked like shit - dark circles around his eyes, drool dripping down his chin, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and his labcoat dirty and stained - there was a righteous fury in him that made him look less like an old drunk and more like an Old Testament deity.

"I keep _things like this_ in the garage," he hissed, "because I - _eeuughh_ \- figured the both of you would know better than to mess with my stuff." He advanced on the two of them, rolling up his sleeves. "I-I thought you'd know that the kind of technology I keep in here i-is the kind of technology you _shouldn't be touching_." He was now right next to Beth, and took her firmly by the arm. "So no. I... I will _not_ be fixing this just yet. I think - I think there's a lesson to be learned here, don't you?" His eyes bored into Beth's. Behind the two of them, Jerry hugged his knees to his chest, whimpering.

"Go get your hairbrush, Beth," Rick said, finality in his voice.

Beth didn't get flustered easily. She was a surgeon, a horse surgeon, yes; but her steely nerves and relatively unflappable temperament made her a good candidate to be cutting living things open in a calm, even manner. And yet, those five words completely, utterly flustered her. She felt her legs tremble, and suddenly she had to pee, a familiar sensation of outrageous nervousness that she abruptly realized it had been so many years since she experienced it that she had completely forgotten the feeling.

"Dad--" her mouth hung open, what was there to say? She was severely tempted to tell him no, but was unsure of the consequences if she attempted such direct insubordination. She tried to reason, "Dad, I'm in my late thirties, we-we can, _talk_ about this, let's _talk_." she shifted on her heels, wishing Jerry would say something dumb to distract her father's attention away. She should run...that's it! The second the thought occurred to her, she almost smiled. _Duh_ if she left the garage she could just not come back! It's not like dad would actually chase her down...right?

Her thoughts wandered to Jerry, but hey, every man for himself. She slowly inched toward the door, giving her father a wide margin, and trying to look as innocent as possible as she plotted her escape. "I'm gonna go and...and uh, get it. But I want to have a discussion, dad, I'm too old for...for...you know." She finished pathetically.

Rick turned to watch her leave, his arms sternly folded. "Y-your late thirties, huh?" he sneered. "Doesn't... doesn't look like it to me, Beth. Now I want you to remember," and at this he turned to Jerry, and gave him a pointed look, "that you got yourself into this mess without my help - but if you want to get out of it, I-I strongly suggest listening to what I - _eeuughh_ \- tell you to do." The implication was clear: unless you want to look like a sixteen-year old for the rest of your life, don't try me.

Jerry, meanwhile, couldn't do much but look from his wife to his father-in-law, his mouth hanging open. He looked like a concerned trout. Was Rick really suggesting... and was Beth going with it...?! She'd never mentioned anything of the sort before. Had Rick always disciplined her like this? But he hadn't even been _there_ when she was growing up, so what the hell? He stared at Beth, who looked rather more vulnerable than he'd seen her in a long time (if he'd ever seen her like this). If Beth could barely deal with this situation, what on Earth could he reasonably be expected to do?

And surely Rick wasn't planning to... to lay hands on him, too?

Dammit. Beth paused in the entrance; her father's tacit threat shockingly obvious. But he wouldn't really...he wouldn't leave them like this, surely? She glanced over her shoulder. Her sad sack dunce of a husband was gaping at Rick and her in sheer terror and confusion; meanwhile Rick was glaring right back at her with a 'you better get going' expression carved into his hard face. How did dad manage to so thoroughly control her with just a few irritated sentences!? To her horror, her legs moved her thought the house and up the stairs. Why couldn't she stop? Why was she compelled to obey? Why wasn't she running to her car?

Her flat back hairbrush sat on the bureau and she frowned as she looked at herself in the mirror briefly. She looked like she was 17 tops. The baby fat in her cheeks had returned full force, her taut stomach and firm breasts looked out of place in her slightly-matronly lingerie. She grabbed the hairbrush and walked back down the stairs, the implement feeling heavier in her hand with each step as every nerve of her being screamed in panic.

Stepping back into the garage, the realness of it all slammed into her, and as her father held his hand out, her self-control broke, and with a little strangled gasp of alarm, she dropped the hairbrush, turned on her heel and bolted for the door.

Rick was upon her in an instant, surprisingly spry for his age. Whatever adventures he'd been on with Morty that day apparently hadn't done such a number on him that he couldn't chase down his daughter. Or perhaps he'd had his suspicions about the possibility of her running away. Grabbing her roughly by the arm, he pulled her towards him.

She looked strangely young. Not just because he knew she was really an adult, trapped in a teenager's body, but also because he'd never seen her at this age. He hadn't been there for her at all when she was in high school, and although he had no intentions of feeling guilty about that, it was still odd to see someone so familiar look almost like a stranger. "Sweetie," he said sternly, "I know you're scared, but you know you have to learn this lesson." Despite the term of endearment, his facial expression betrayed no affection whatsoever - it was a cold mask of indifference and paternal condescension.

"Rick," came a wavering voice from behind him. "Rick... what are you doing?" Somehow Jerry's voice was even more grating now that it was a bit higher.

"I-I'm making sure you two don't make this mistake again," Rick replied curtly, not taking his eyes off of his daughter. "Now I-I'm going to let go of your arm, and you - you're going to pick up that hairbrush, and you're going to lie down across my lap and learn this lesson." His grasp on her arm tightened, and he added brusquely: "And if you ever try to run from your dad again, I'm adding the belt on top of whatever else you've earned."

Her stomach churned wildly. No matter how much she had drank earlier, Beth was cold sober now. Her father snatching her arm and pulling her close was absolutely terrifying; she had no idea her elderly father could move so quick, and the vice grip on her arm belied his strength. She realized with a jolt of dismay that she had been severely underestimating her father. His threat sent a shiver down her spine which she didn't even bother to conceal; meanwhile her husband was weakly whimpering behind her father and just making the whole ordeal even worse.

Her father released her arm, and briskly walked to his work bench, yanking out the chair, pulling it into the center of the cement floor in the garage and sitting down. Oh god, she was not gonna survive this. Trembling, she leaned over and picked up the hairbrush. Each hesitating step carried her closer to her doom as anxiety tightened her throat and made her pulse race. Finally arriving beside him, she paused and gripped the hairbrush tighter. Beth's eyes were riveted to the floor as she weakly protested with a bratty little pout, "Not in...in front of Jerry. Make him leave."

"Absolutely not," Rick decided with a pointed look at Jerry. "He... he needs to know what's coming to him. Jerry, I-I want you to stay right there. Other... - _eeuurrpp_ \- otherwise you're getting a lot worse than just the hairbrush."

Jerry simply stared back, wide-eyed, like a deer about to get hit by a car. He seemed to barely comprehend the scene that was unfolding in front of him.

Rick turned his attention back to Beth, and - almost gently - took the hairbrush from her. Pulling her closer to stand between his legs, he looked up at her and frowned. "I-I know you're a smart girl, Beth. And I... I wouldn't be - ugh - doing this if I didn't think you'd, you'd benefit from it. So, so tell me. What's about to happen, and why's it happening to you?"

Beth's mouth was dry as she opened her mouth and then closed it again, fighting to swallow down the lump in her throat. She licked her lips and bounced on the balls of her feet, stalling for time, wishing her father might change his mind at the last second. She was 36, looked 17, and felt about four years old as she kept her eyes on the floor and mumbled barely loud enough to be audible, "You'rrree...about to...uh.." Beth couldn't force out the word, she just couldn't. It felt so juvenile, so _shameful_. "You're about to _punish_ me...because..." She clenched her teeth," because Jerry and I...we...uh...we were fooling around on top of your stuff."

It sounded sillier as she said it, and she could feel a hot blush color her cheeks. Goddammit this was not fair. Her foot slowly slid backward as she leaned away from him; her instinctual self-preservation still screaming at her to escape.

"Hmm." Rick didn't seem entirely satisfied with her answer, but didn't press further. "Feels like there's... there's some pretty vital information missing there. No worries, I-I think I can jog your memory." He took her wrist and guided her to his side, closed his legs, and tapped his lap with the hairbrush. "Y-you know what's next, Beth." This time he didn't let go of her wrist. If she was planning to run away again, he wanted her to know that he was here to support her to make better choices this time around.

As he positioned her over his lap, he exchanged a look with Jerry, who seemed to have an inkling about what awaited him and looked about ready to faint. Still, unlike his wife, he made no attempt to escape. Just one more reason Rick vastly preferred his daughter. At least she had a bit of fire in her.

"I-I know it's been a while," Rick said, patting her bottom - still covered by her panties - with the brush. "But try to take it like a big girl." Without any further warning, and without even warming her up with his hand first, he began - the brush coming down on her again, and again, and again, the swats firm, fast, and his rhythm unwavering.

Beth's legs kicked straight out behind her, and she gasped loudly for each of the first four swats and on the fifth, grabbed her father's shin and loudly protested, " _FUCK, Dad, aughh--_ "

Never in her life had she felt so supremely vulnerable. She prided herself on professionalism, nonchalance, a practiced coolness that embellished her careful facade of "having it all together." And yet here she was, coming completely undone, bent over her father's knee, a dozen swats in, and _already_ out of breath.

"Dad!" She kicked her legs, and flailed--if she wiggled hard enough maybe she'd fall off his lap? "Dad, please!" Please what? She tried to think of what she was "please-ing" for; please stop? Unlikely. Please not so goddamned hard? Even more unlikely.

Despite her thrashing, it hardly seemed to matter as that dratted hairbrush smacked into her ass with the force of a locomotive. It hurt deeply, intensely, the burn spreading through her entire nether regions and legs, as a long wail was pulled from her throat. But then she caught sight of Jerry out of the corner of her eye and fell silent, grunting in the back of her throat, embarrassed he had seen her display. Fine, if dad wanted Jerry to watch, she wouldn't bother giving him anything to watch. With a stubborn growl, Beth grasped the chair leg with her other hand and privately determined she'd take the rest of her spanking silently.

Rick grabbed her waist with his free arm as he continued his assault on her ass. It seemed she hadn't taken his suggestion to take her spanking like a big girl to heart, but then again it had been ages since she'd last been in this position so he couldn't fully fault her. Besides, it was certainly not going to be the _last_ time, so there was plenty of time to instill a sense of protocol and propriety in her.

He caught her looking at Jerry, and grinned at his son-in-law, who went even paler. Jerry looked like he'd been kicked in the stomach, and seemed on the verge of tears. Exactly the point of making him watch.

"Beth?" Jerry piped up in a small voice. "Are you - are you okay?"

"Of course she's not," Rick spoke for her, his voice level. "She's getting her ass beaten. D-don't forget you're next, _Jerry_." He paused for a moment to look at his handiwork. Beth's ass and upper thighs were red and hot to the touch, which meant this was the perfect time to get to the main event. He roughly pulled down her panties and slid them down to her ankles. "Now, before I - before I continue... remind me, why are you over my lap?" He tapped her ass with his bare hand before swatting it hard. "Give me a good answer and I-I might decide to go a little easier on you."

Beth grunted in response to her idiotic husband and would've cussed him out had her father not answered for her. As abruptly as he had begun, he stopped, and as she panted hard over his knee, she felt him snatching the back of her underwear and pulling them to to her ankles. "Dad, nooooo!!" But it happened in less than a second, and his hard hand smacked her firmly as he questioned her. She could hear the slight tweak of bemused satisfaction in his voice and she positively boiled with anger. She kicked her foot against the floor, and dug her nails into her father's leg where she still grasped his shin. With her face scrunched into a furious grimace she snapped, "I'm over your lap because _apparently_ I'm not allowed to fuck in my own garage!"

The moment the words left her mouth she slapped a hand over her mouth in horror, shocked at the mini-tantrum that had definitely just sealed her fate. She felt her father's hand rise off her ass and panicked, she flutter-kicked her feet, "wait--dad wait, I'm sorry, I'm just mad, wait!! Dad, dad, wait, please!"

"If that's what you think," Rick replied serenely, "I guess we're gonna be here for a long, long time."

And, with a grunt, he hoisted her over his left leg while trapping her legs with his right. "I-I'm getting pretty tired of you clawing at my leg, young lady," he continued, and he reached down to grab her wrists and pin them behind her back. If he knew his little girl - and he liked to think he did, to some degree at least - perhaps she needed to feel properly helpless in order to start learning her lesson. Having immobilized her, he grabbed the hairbrush once more, and have her a few warning taps.

"Now I-I'm going to give you twenty good ones, Beth," he explained, slowly, as if talking to a child, "but I'm not ex... - _eeuugh_ \- expecting you to count. I want you to think carefully though, because I'm gonna ask you again afterwards why you're over my lap getting your ass spanked like a little girl. And I'm gonna keep asking until I get a proper answer. Is that clear?"

Her face was burning hot, and Beth was positive that at this point she was probably red all over from her nose to her toes. She couldn't remember the last time she had been pinned down like this, absolutely helpless, but the position felt so insanely familiar, it was almost as if she had experienced this _last week_. With her limbs restricted tightly, the only fidgeting left available was wiggling her butt side to side over her father's lap, and it gave her no reprieve. She wiggled anyway, frustrated and scared and anxious as her plaintive voice rose up from her bowed head,

"Dad, twenty??" But worried she was just inviting more, she quickly nodded her head and sadly replied, "yes, sir, you're clear."

Sir? Where the heck did sir come from!? She blushed harder, dammit, she'd never be able to look her father in the eye after this. As the first swat smacked into her now - naked bottom, her head lifted and her back arched, "ShiiiiIIITT, yeowch!" At the second swat she gave up on being silent and a gargled yelp of pain preceeded an embarrassing moment of begging, "Daaaaaad, dad, _please_ , oh god dad, PLEASE!"

The third swat landed and she hissed out another cuss as she writhed across his lap, hampered by her restrained limbs. Her eyes were watering and without the distraction of moving around, she was forced to lie there and take it, but she stubbornly chewed her lip. No, she was _not_ gonna cry.

From the corner of the room, a small, sobbing sound made it painfully obvious that while Beth was determined not to cry, Jerry had no such qualms. Staring at his wife, his breathing ragged, he seemed to be panicking much more than he had any right to, considering he hadn't even found himself over Rick's lap yet.

Still, Rick paid him no attention, focusing on the task at hand. He was still livid with his daughter for messing around with his experiments, but spanking a teenage ass definitely had its perks. In any other situation he might have commented on it, but for now he simply enjoyed the wobble of Beth's perky ass in silence and considered his onslaught, spreading out the swats to color both her ass and her upper thighs an angry, vivid red.

After his twentieth swat, he put the hairbrush down once more and folded his arms on Beth's back in contemplation. "A-and... that's twenty. Now let me - _eeuuggh_ \- let me ask you again, Beth. Why are you over my lap? Th-think carefully, now." He lightly tapped her ass - enough to remind her of what he'd just done, and what he would happily continue to do.

Each smack had been worse than the last and by the end, Beth was thoroughly cowed. Although she hadn't made much noise, a steady stream of tears dripped from her eyes into the concrete of the garage floor as she tearfully responded,

"I-- (sniff) I-I'm g-gettin' a...a spanking cuz...Jerryyy and I...we-we disssrespected your stuff an-an f-f-fu--had s-sex on the weird couch machiiiine.." with her wrists firmly grasped in Rick's hand, she curled her fingers in to brush against his thumb, desperately sorry, and hopeful her torment was coming to an end. "I'm sorryyyy daddyy--"

And with that final, pathetic lament, she choked out a hoarse sob and went limp over her father's knee.

"That's it, sweetie," Rick nodded. He briefly contemplated giving her another twenty to drive his point home, but she seemed contrite enough, and there was another trespasser to deal with, too. He had a feeling that if he didn't get to Jerry soon, the poor fucker might actually pass out, which would be a pain in the ass.

Grunting, he heaved Beth off of his lap, and had her stand between his legs. He wiped at her face with a rough thumb. It was good to see he'd gotten through to her at last. "G-good girl," he praised her. "Now go stand in the corner while I deal with that - with that idiot husband of yours." Sending her off with another pat on her backside, he turned his attention to his son-in-law.

"Right, Jerry." He raised an eyebrow. "Y-your turn."

As Beth submissively trotted to the corner of the garage and stuck her nose firmly in the corner, Rick internally smiled at the sight. His daughter, in her teenage years, head against the wall, panties at her feet, crimson bottom on display...Rick was half tempted to whip out his phone and take a picture. But alas, he had to deal with his dunderheaded son-in-law. Patting his lap, Rick raised an eyebrow at the quivering mess of half-naked teenage Jerry cowering on the floor.

"C'mon, Jerry, y-you just saw Beth de-euughh-monstrate, you know the drill; stand up and bend over my lap."

Rick shot a dangerous look at him, narrowing his eyes, "do _not_ m-make me come fetch you Jerry, y-y-you will regret it... _trust_ me."

Jerry felt like he was about to throw up. This had to be some sick nightmare - surely he'd be waking up soon and everything would be back to normal. "Rick, please," he begged, scooting away from his father-in-law and that wicked-looking hairbrush. He glanced over at Beth, and knew that he would do anything not to end up in that position. "You can't... you can't be serious! I... I don't agree to this!"

His parents had never spanked him as a child, and he had no clue what to expect - although if Beth's experience was anything to go by, it'd be disastrous. He'd never seen his wife quite as upset before. She wasn't the type to cry, and she _definitely_ wasn't the type to beg. Hugging his knees to his chest in a last-ditch effort to protect himself, he stared up at Rick, all wide-eyed panic. "Y-you're not my dad, Rick! You can't do... you can't do this to me!"

"A-are you _sure, Jerry?_ "

Rick leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, smack the hairbrush casually against his hand as he stared at the blubbering mess Jerry was becoming. God what a fucking wreck, what did Beth see in him!? Rick raised his eyebrow and stared him down, "l-l-last-euurggh-last chance, _Jerry,_ " he spat the name out like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "if I have t-to stand up and go get you, I'll-I'll see to it that y-you can't sit down for two weeks. I'll only repeat myself one more time: stand up, a-and get your sorry ass over here so I can spank it."

Jerry was a lot of things at that point in time (hysterical, nauseous, etc.) but sure was certainly not one of them. On a rational level he knew that if Rick made good on that threat, it would be assault, and he would be able to press charges. But a much more primal part of him felt that it would be much better to submit to Rick and avoid any further unpleasantries.

"I-it's not fair!" he hiccuped, properly in tears now. "We... we didn't do anything wrong! This is _our_ garage and that just looks like a normal sofa, and, and... there's nothing wrong with what we did...! We're allowed to... to do things like that in our own home!" Tears spilling down his cheeks, he whined - voice breaking once more: "You're our _guest!_ "

In a flash, Rick was on his feet, stalking aggressively toward Jerry as Beth curiously turned her head around to glance at the scene taking place.

"Nose i-in the corner, Beth," he snapped, before glaring down at the pathetic, quivering wimp before him. Grasping a handful of Jerry's hair, Rick roughly dragged him to his feet and drew him close, "I'm n-not your guest, Jerry, I'm in charge."

And with a low growl in the back of his throat, he turned on his heel and briskly stomped back to the chair, dragging an upset, protesting Jerry with him. Sitting down, Rick tossed him over his knee, pressed a firm hand to the middle of his back, and lined up the hairbrush against Jerry's brief-covered bottom.

"I'd-eeurppp - I'd ask if y-you were ready, Jerry, but really, it d-doesn't matter if you are or not."

Adjusting him, Rick raised the hairbrush and scolded, "I-I-I suggest y-you think carefully about your actions because I'm going to ask you the s-sssame question I asked Beth, when I'm finished with you--"

And with that final, ominous promise, the hairbrush violently smacked down onto Jerry's ass.

Yelping and protesting, Jerry couldn't do much but follow Rick to the chair. He was babbling, barely aware of the excuses and explanations spilling from his mouth - it was as if some switch in his brain had been flipped to survival mode. Not that he was doing a great job of surviving - once he found himself over Rick's lap, it was clear that he'd lost their little battle of wills, and that he'd be sorry for attempting to challenge Rick in the first place.

"Puh-puh-please!" he whined, clutching Rick's pant leg. "No - don't do this! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm - " However, before he could rattle off more apologies, the hairbrush collided with his ass and it was much, much worse than he had anticipated. Jerry clearly had no concern for his pride, and shrieked out in terror and agony, writhing on Rick's lap like a fish on dry land. "Dooo _oooon't!"_ he begged, kicking his legs, and digging his fingers into Rick's wiry calf.

"Jesus, Jerry," Rick smacked him again before pausing to collect Jerry's wrists and pin them to the small of his back, "f-feel free to y-y'know, be a total wuss; at least _attempt_ to take your lesson like a man--"

The hairbrush slammed down again, ripples of flesh and fat traveling across Jerry's teenaged ass, down to his rapidly kicking legs. Rick rolled his eyes,

"Or, euugh, j-just continue to be a bitch; either-urrp - either- way, w-we’ve g-got a looooong way to go, so _settle. Down._ "

Rick punctuated the final two words with searingly hard swats to the backs of Jerry's thighs and smiled in satisfaction. There was really nothing quite like correcting errant behavior with a trusty hairbrush.

In any other situation, Jerry might have felt humiliated by Rick's jabs at his manhood. Right now, however, he definitely had other things to worry about. Without the use of his arms to flail around, all that was left to do for him was to kick his legs. Perhaps he might get lucky and kick Rick in the face and put an end to this ordeal before Rick entirely destroyed his ass.

The only good thing about this was that he was brimming with youthful energy. Normally he'd be exhausted after this much exercise, especially with his emotions running high like this. In his current state, however, he could at least kick and scream his way through it.

Until those two smacks to the backs of his thighs. If his ass felt like it was on fire before, now it was like Rick had pressed a hot poker to it. Jerry shrieked, and let the tears flow freely, sobbing and apologizing all at once. "Rick, Rick, Rick I'm suh-suh-so sorry...! Please please _nooooo_ \- no _stop_ , stop, please Rick, please!"

Rick snorted derisively and swatted again. "S-sssave y-your breath, Jerry," he suggested, jostling his knee and drawing Jerry closer and tighter against him, "I -erughh- I expect you'll need it..."

And with that, Rick proceeded to lay into a helpless, kicking, sobbing Jerry. Despite his son-in-law's rapidly kicking legs, the hairbrush swatted away perfectly on target, and while Jerry's returned youth offered him increased vigor, Rick was shockingly strong, and easily handled the squirming, yowling teenager.

"Are you -eeurhgg- l-learning a lesson here, Jerry?" Rick moved down and spend time paddling the backs of his thighs, turning them deep crimson, "this t-euugh-ype of behavior is _not_ acceptable."

Rick paused and let Jerry catch his breath for a grand total of five seconds before hooking his fingers in the waistband of his briefs and yanking them to the floor in one smooth motion before Jerry had a chance to react. With Jerry's ass bared, Rick gave him two might swats, one on each cheek, before pausing again and resting the flat back of the brush against the bottom over his lap.

"A-alright Jerry," Rick calmly intoned, "M-maybe you'll have better luck answering th-this question than Beth; why are you over my knee getting a spanking?"

Jerry was half-delirious with pain and humiliation. He'd never felt quite this small, and he couldn't say he cared much for the feeling. Although there was something almost comforting about being held so firmly - a thought he took great pains not to analyze too deeply.

It took him a moment to realize Rick had stopped spanking him. Disoriented, he tried to wiggle his hands free to rub his scorching ass, but found Rick's grip unyielding. Sobbing softly, he hung his head. Rick had definitely beaten the fight out of him already. Then again, this being Jerry, there hadn't been much fight in him to begin with. "I-I'm so - so - suh-suh-sorry," he bawled, face wet with tears, cheeks burning. "We shouldn't - shouldn't have come into your garage, and, and we shouldn't have touched your stuff, and I'm sorry - I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!"

The very idea of giving the wrong answer and having Rick spank him some more almost had him fainting, and he decided to forgo any pride he might have left in favor of being safe, rather than even sorrier. "Thank you for t-t-teaching me a, a lesson," he sniffled.

Rick hummed encouragingly and rubbed the hairbrush against the crack of Jerry's ass, "woww, Je-euugh-rry, firrrst try. M-maybe you're not as dense as I thought."

Just as with Beth, Rick jostled him up over his right knee and swept his left leg over the backs of Jerry's shaking thighs, squeezing in firmly, trapping him. Having situated his victim properly, Rick tapped the hairbrush for aim.

"S-since you got it right on the first try, I'll-uerpp-I'll only give you 18, 'kay, Jerry?" Rick raised the brush high above the naked nates in his lap, "j-just goes to show h-how _compassionate_ I c-can be, huh, Jerry? I think y-you owe me a thank-you."

And with a little chuckle to himself, Rick began smacking away again.

Jerry's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Eighteen? But - but he’d given the right answer! This wasn't fair! "Riiiiick!" he wailed, writhing helplessly, desperate to escape the hairbrush coming down again and again on his abused ass. "I - I said I'm sorry! Stop, stop, please!" The notion of thanking Rick for this hurt almost as much as the hairbrush. Why was he still getting punished? Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Hadn’t he followed the rules?!

"It's n-n-not faaaiiiiir," he blubbered, his voice nasal, his nose dripping with snot and tears. How was Rick not tired yet? How long would he keep going? God, maybe he'd even been lying about those eighteen swats... maybe he'd be here forever! "Rick, please, please," he hiccuped, his arms trembling with his fruitless efforts to free himself, his ass clenched as if that would somehow make Rick's flurry of smacks hurt less (it did not).

Jerry's cries in his lap did little to move him, and for the most part Rick barely paid attention as he delivered the promised eighteen swats. Rick was methodical about these final smacks. Each was delivered spot-on target, and after each swat, Rick would space them out about a second, waiting until he knew the burn from the hairbrush had reached its crescendo before swatting again. He laughed harshly at Jerry's 'fair' complaint, "Y-y-you're abso-ouughh-lutely right, Jerry, w-what would be _fair_ is for me to take my belt to you immediately after this." He felt Jerry shudder over his lap, and swatted him again, "S-so b-be happy I'm in a merciful mood."

Arriving at the final two, Rick delivered these against the crease where Jerry's thighs met his ass, and finally stopped.

"Aaaaaand that's-urrp-that's eighteen; d-do you have anything you'd like to tell me, Jerry?"

Jerry was nothing but a trembling mess of frayed nerves and sobs on Rick's lap. He felt like he was having an out of body experience, with only the painful reminder of the spanking he'd just received tying him to the physical plane. His ass felt like it was literally glowing, and he could feel his heartbeat throb along the marks Rick had surely left.

His voice was raspy when he finally managed to speak up; all the crying had taken its toll. "Sorry," he whimpered, all cried out and reduced to a terrified little boy, "and, and thank you, Rick." He wanted nothing more than to disappear. What had seemed like a fun, sexy idea when he'd first proposed it to Beth (a lifetime ago, it seemed) had now revealed itself to be the worst decision he'd ever made in his life.

The very possibility of being belted after this seemed ludicrous. Surely if Rick spanked him any longer, he'd die of shock and sheer agony. This was his limit. It had to be.

Rick gave him a final swat with his bare hand and sighed, "Y-you both a-a-are in severe need of training;" he glanced at Beth, still stuffed in the corner, red bottom on display, "well, in-in your case Beth, _re-_ training."

Helping the sniveling mess Jerry had become up off his lap, Rick comfortingly squeezed his forearm and then gently pushed him in the direction of Beth. "Alright, J-jerry, good boy... settle down and go put y-your nose against the wall. R-right next to Beth." He gave him a stern look and watched as the brunette scampered off to stand beside his wife and sniffle miserably against the wall.

Rick folded his arms as he sat in his chair and stared at the two cherry red bottoms that sat atop two sets of trembling legs.

"I -uuerp- hope I made my point clear today..." He stood up and tucked Beth's hairbrush into his pocket. "Y-you both stay right w-where you are, and I'll come - I'll come back to get you in a little while."

And with a final self-satisfied survey of his own handiwork, Rick left the garage and closed the door after him.


	2. A Family Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick explains their new arrangement to the rest of the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be updated "regularly".

After what felt like a lifetime Rick returned, commanded them to get dressed, for god's sake, and informed them that Summer and Morty were waiting for them in the living room. Jerry hastily tugged on his shirt and his pants, wincing and tearing up as the fabric slid over his ass. Bow-legged and cringing with every step, he made his way out of the garage and to the living room, not checking to see if Beth was following him. One thing had become painfully clear to him: it was every man and woman for themselves now, and he would certainly not risk Rick's wrath just to help his wife avoid further punishment.

As he shuffled into the living room, Morty and Summer looked up. Morty seemed more than a little disturbed, wringing his hands, squeezed into a corner of the couch. Summer simply raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. "I didn't believe Grandpa Rick at first," she sighed, "but... oh my god. You really did it."

Jerry felt his cheeks grow hot with humiliation. His head was pounding; crying never failed to give him a headache. "Watch your tone," he tried to tell his daughter off, but his voice sounded too young to hold any authority. Still, Summer shrugged and turned back to her phone.

Beth trailed after Jerry, her mind jumping around to the various possibilities that might await them at this 'family meeting.' She was keen to avoid another spanking and privately decided that she would appeal to her dad later on, when the rest of the family and mostly _Jerry_ weren't around. She was confident she could charm her way into his better graces. In the living room her children seemed to be tacitly aware of what had occurred but Beth declined to even acknowledge them, and instead stiffly sat down in the armchair beside the couch. She winced and swallowed a yelp of pain as she lowered her bottom into the cushion, but she was dealing with her thoroughly spanked bottom with much more dignity than Jerry. Her husband sat between Morty and Summer, but then sprang back up again, clutching the seat of his pants with a wild-eyed expression. Beth rolled her eyes, what an amateur, and gently slouched so her weight rested mostly on her lower back.

Morty kindly looked over at his mother, "Jeez...Y-you, you okay, mom?"

Without turning to look at her son, Beth crisply replied, "Yes, Morty, I'm _peachy_."

A moment later, dad strolled into the room, cleaned up from his last adventure, but with his permanent scowl still plastered across his face. As his eye roved over the assembly Beth felt herself cower beneath his gaze. Somehow being de-aged made her father seem twice as scary.

"I-I think it's clear," Rick began, arms folded, the very picture of an authoritarian father figure, "that left to y-your own... your own devices, you can't, you all can't be trusted to keep yourself alive."

Summer opened her mouth to protest, but shut it immediately after one glare from Rick. She glanced at her dad, who seemed to be close to tears, and decided that it was perhaps for the better to let Rick have his say this once.

Rick put a firm hand on Jerry's shoulder, pushing him down on the sofa. Jerry yelped - he'd been attempting to hover above the sofa cushions to avoid putting any pressure on his abused ass. "In the absence of any - any _adults,"_ and at this he cast a stern look at Beth, "I've decided to take all of you in hand. Y-yes, Morty that - _eeuugh_ \- that means exactly what you think it means." Giving his grandson an affectionate hair ruffle, he continued: "Y-you're my family, and I love you. If that means I have to spank you to drive that message home, so be it. Any questions?"

Summer glanced sideways at the rest of her family. Morty was flushed red and looked like he'd rather be anywhere else at this moment. Mom was staring determinedly at the floor, and dad was whimpering pathetically. She sighed, god this family sucked. Raising her hand sarcastically, Summer stared up at Rick.

"Okay uh...yeah, I have a question: what the fuck?"

_"Summer!!"_

Morty had leaned forward from the back of the couch and was staring at her, eyes bugged out of his skull. But Summer rolled her eyes at him and stared back up at Rick,

"No, but seriously grandpa Rick, like, what are you even talking about; you're gonna _spank_ us," she accentuated the phrase with air quotes, "because you love us? Aren't people like, supposed to do something bad before that happens? Like, are there new rules or something?"

She was quite frankly incredulous about the whole damn situation; but Summer hadn't been 'in trouble.' In a long time, simply by dint of rarely being home.

Rick quirked an eyebrow at her. "No new rules," he smirked, "other than a suggestion to use y-your... your common sense." The look he shot Summer made it very clear that she was in serious danger of already violating this one rule by challenging him on this. "Consider any spankings you may or may not receive a-a reminder to make smart choices, _Summer."_

Morty raised a trembling hand. "Uh, uh... Rick... are you gonna... are you gonna turn mom and dad back, or...?" He looked at Beth dubiously, clearly wondering how he was going to get through life with a teen mom, being a teen himself.

Rick sucked in air through his teeth, and shrugged. "Once I figure out how, we'll, we'll see, Mo-eeeuurrghh-rty."

Jerry interjected, "w-wait, Rick, what do you _mean_ 'we'll see,' sssurely, I mean, y-you've got to change us back!"

"Jerry!" Beth sharply scolded in her youthful voice from her position on the arm chair, "shush!"

She crossed her arms and stared harder at the ground. Honestly, why was everyone asking questions!? The sooner they all shut up, the sooner this ridiculous family meeting would be over and she could go lay on her stomach and have a pity party in private. 

"So..." Summer raised her eyebrow, and glanced at her parents before turning her bored gaze back to Rick "uh...was that all, or...?" She whipped out her phone and began texting without waiting for a reply, clearly done with the entire affair.

Rick stalked over to Summer's chair, and plucked the phone out of her hands. "I'm getting the impression," he said, his mildly jovial tone of earlier dissipating, "that y-you're not taking this as seriously as you should, Summer. And because I'm nothing if not - ughh - reasonable, let me drive my point home. Jerry, stand up."

Jerry, panicked and confused, stared back open-mouthed. Rick clicked his fingers, which was enough to remind Jerry of the last time he made Rick ask more than twice, and he shot up. "Now drop your pants," Rick commanded coldly, "and show y-your daughter what happens if - if you try and test me."

Jerry turned red. "Rick, please," he begged. Rick slowly turned to look at him, and in that look there was enough venom to have Jerry trembling where he stood.

"Do I need to ask again?" Rick asked, voice dripping with condescension, and the promise of more punishment.

"N-no," Jerry said hurriedly, swallowing hard before slowly turning around and lowering his pants. He hesitated at his underwear, and suppressing a dry sob, slowly pushed his briefs down too.

_"Oh my god!"_

Summer slapped her hand over her eyes and cringed. Well, there's an image to haunt her dreams for a few years. She'd never seen the results of a spanking quite so intense. She did her best to keep up her air of nonchalance simply out of pride, but truthfully, the sight shook her to her core. At the other end of the couch she could hear Morty making a series of high pitched, distressed noises not unlike a small, wet kitten.

"Okay, _okay,_ Grandpa Rick," Summer leaned her head against the back of the couch, avoiding looking at her sniffling father with his pants at his thighs, "I get it, alright?" She held her hand out, "can I have my phone back?" And after a brief hesitation, she begrudgingly ground out, "...please?"

Beth meanwhile fidgeted uncomfortably; happy to have the attention off her but still desperate to leave. "Uh, dad? may I...uh, go upstairs now?" She asked politely, but just the slightest edge of annoyance framed her tone. While Morty and Jerry were now both thoroughly subdued, both Smith women seemed to still have a unwillingness to fully submit.

Jerry remained standing, snivelling and humiliated. When he was bent over Rick's knee, he'd been sure that was the worst experience of his life. Now, showing off his bruised ass to his teenage daughter, he wasn't so sure about that anymore. "P-please, Rick," he said, in a small voice. Where Beth sounded like a grown woman in a teenage body, Jerry looked and sounded exactly like a thoroughly disciplined child.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Rick said: "Pull 'em up a-and sit down, Jerry." Still he didn't take his eyes off Summer. Clearly his daughter and granddaughter weren't convinced yet. Summer apparently needed more than just visual proof, and Beth seemed to be hell-bent on pretending the whole thing had never happened. "No, Beth, you may not," he replied curtly, and turned to his daughter with a particularly nasty smile. Tucking Summer's phone in his pocket, he continued: "B-before any of you leave, I want to make sure y-you understand what - euurgh - what the consequences are o-of misbehavior. O-only _fair,_ huh, Jerry?"

Jerry wisely kept his mouth shut.

"So Beth, why d-don't you tell your daughter e-exactly how it feels to be put i-in your place by your dad?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Unless you prefer I-I demonstrate on you, of course."

For the second time today, Beth felt her stomach drop at dad's request and her bottom unconsciously clenched. Being spanked in front of Jerry was terrible; being spanked in front of her children however...Beth pursed her lips. Entirely unacceptable. Taking her eyes off the patch of floor she'd been glaring at, Beth turned to look at her father, but beneath his stern gaze she dropped her eyes from his face to his hands. The same hands that had held her good and still just a little while ago. 

"Er..." Beth's tongue awkwardly flapped in her mouth; what the fuck was she supposed to say!?

Her eyes darted to Summer. Her pretty redhead daughter still seemed fairly lackadaisical given that she had just seen her father's bruised ass. Beth licked her dry lips and tried again,

"Uh-hh...it uum..it feels bad." Rick coughed loudly and took a step forward, and in her dismay Beth rushed to properly express herself or risk another spanking. "Ahh--Summer, it's uhh...very unpleasant; trust me. Your grandpa is... _thorough,_ and," Beth shifted again in her seat, profoundly aware of her sore bottom, "...and he spanks very hard...it's humiliating and painful, and com--" Beth shut her mouth over the word 'comforting,' where the fuck had THAT come from? She felt herself get red as she finished feebly, "Summer, he's being serious." 

Beth's eyes darted back to her father's face, wordlessly seeking approval.

Rick sucked in a breath through his teeth, his face not betraying any emotion. Instead, he glanced at Summer. "D-does that convince you, Summer?" he asked in a tone that was so deliberately neutral that it simply had to conceal some dark purpose. In fact, he wouldn't mind if Summer kept up this blasé attitude. Jerry he'd broken with ease - sure, he'd told the both of them they needed training, but Jerry was such a ruin of a man after only one spanking that it'd be easy to build him from the ground up - to Rick's specifications, this time.

Morty knew how the business end of a paddle felt on his ass already, and seemed to have made the sensible decision to keep his trap shut. But Summer and Beth... clearly they needed a bit more persuading. It'd be quite nice to drag Beth over his lap for round two to show Summer exactly who was boss, and to then repeat the performance on his granddaughter's perky ass. 

Rick only barely managed to suppress a smirk. When he got back from his adventure with Morty, he'd been more pissed off than anything that Jerry and Beth had disrespected his space and his belongings so brazenly. Now he was beginning to think it may have been a blessing in disguise. Being the man of the house had its perks, after all - getting to spank four teenagers to tears on a regular basis was certainly not the least among them.

Summer listened to her mother with a raised eyebrow, and as Rick calmly asked if she was convinced, the teenager nodded with mock eagerness, "Ooh yeah, Grandpa Rick, I understand." She only barely refrained from rolling her eyes; yeah she understood all right...she understood her parents were idiots. But between Rick's expression and steely calm voice, Summer stopped just short of directly challenging him. She wasn't stupid; she could sense a tiger ready to pounce and preferred to continue to have her fun subtly undermining him. Besides, she hadn't done anything wrong yet so she couldn't be spanked!

Beth had meanwhile, scooted to the edge of her seat, practically hanging half out if it; desperately waiting to be set free. She was fidgety and and her butt was sore, and her father's sudden household dominance was difficult to come to grips with. She didn't like it, and although she had just been thoroughly spanked, already she was busy thinking of ways to circumvent him and his overbearing disciplinary attitude.

While Morty and Jerry sank into the couch, both ladies seemed ready to spring out and jump to their feet. Summer hummed impatiently and exchanged a glance with her mother that seemed to beg 'make him stop.' Before turning to look up at Rick again. She did her best to smile, but it looked fake;

"Soooo...about my phone Grandpa Rick...?"

Beth scooted another two inches off the arm chair.

Rick eyed the two of them for an uncomfortably long time. The silence that hung in the air between them was almost tangible, and still Rick's expression was unreadable. If anything, he looked vaguely smug.

Finally he looked over at the three Smiths sitting on the sofa, and made a sharp _get up_ gesture. Morty immediately obeyed, and Jerry too followed soon after. "Switch seats with your mother, Summer," Rick said calmly. He sounded like he was dictating the seating arrangement at a dinner party, but the way he sat down in the center of the sofa, his legs slightly apart, betrayed his true intentions.

He patted his lap, and crooked his finger at Beth. "I-I don't think you've raised a very good listener, Beth," he said, still the epitome of serenity. "So let's make sure she knows exactly what's in store for little girls who - _uugghh_ \- don't listen."

Jerry had gone deathly pale, and Morty was studying his shoes intently.

Beth was frozen in place. Her father's calm and quietly impassive demeanor was more terrifying than if he had yelled. Her cheeks clenched unconsciously and suddenly there was nothing else. There was just her and dad. Beth slowly stood up, both feeling and hearing her pulse pounding as she struggled with the urge to try and run or outright refuse. Beth knew logically it didn't matter what she did, she was definitely about to get spanked. But somehow being made to _submit_ and especially in front of her children! 

Standing, she planted her feet, trembling but for forceful, "Dad, not--not in front of the _children!"_

Beth felt herself get more red than she ever had in her life. not this. Dad was out of line! really, in front of Summer and Morty!? 

"Dad, just- I r-really don't, uh-umm-" Damn it--she sounded like Morty. she tried again, "you have made your point! I'm nnot, umm. p-please-" and then finally, "No… Dad _pleeease."_

"Beth," Rick said, but his tone was a lot more demanding now. He seemed to be growing impatient, and tapped his foot on the floor to prove his point. "I _said_ we'll be showing Summer what's in store for little girls who d-don't listen... do you want me to show her what happens to little girls who say _no_ to their fathers, too?" The implication was clear: either come here now, or be prepared to suffer the (even graver) consequences.

This time he made no move to get up and grab her, or to forcibly pull her over his lap. It was clear that whatever battle of wills he was fighting with Beth would be fought without either one touching the other - at least until Beth finally did find herself over her father's knee to deal with the consequences of her disobedience, and then some.

"Right now you're getting my hand," Rick continued, his voice dangerous and low. "If I have to count to three it'll be the brush again. If I have to count to five it'll be the belt. And if I have to count to ten it'll be a cane."

Rick's lips puckered in the formation of the number 'one' and Beth was suddenly stiffly walking to him, a distant memory of Dad always counting fast when she was a child. 

Coming to stand in the center of his spread legs, Beth felt herself tingle. Fuck, but she _couldn't_ just submit so easily! Dad was practically radiating warmth and suddenly Beth felt oddly drawn to him, and although she was about to have her ass beat, her nether regions were quickly becoming damp--another terrible source of humiliation. 

"Dad--" Beth stared into his face, her lower lip just starting to push forward. She slowly, painstakingly, eased her way over his lap, resting upper body over the couch, her perky ass (even in mom jeans) up high over Rick's lap, her back arched, and her long blond hair laying over her shoulders as she stared at the couch cushion and scowled.

"You're not getting off... the hook that easy," Rick smirked. The pause was barely perceptible, but he knew Beth was one of the more perceptive members of this family. Luckily, so was he. She could protest all she wanted - he knew a girl who wanted a spanking when he saw one, which was just as well. Considering he was using Beth as a demonstration tool to teach Summer a lesson, it seemed fair enough she get something out of the arrangement. Although, of course, that didn't mean he'd go easy on her.

"Pants down," he commanded, and shifted around to help her push her jeans down. In just her panties, his handiwork of before was clearly visible, and he made sure to make prolonged eye contact with Summer. Morty still refused to look up, but that was just as well - of all the Smiths, Morty was definitely the one who needed the fewest reminders of who was in charge here. Jerry's eyes, meanwhile, were glued to his wife's cherry red bottom. Although he was still flustered from his earlier humiliation, there was definitely something in his eyes that betrayed his relief at not being the one over Rick's lap right now. Something to file away for later, Rick decided.

"Now make sure y-you - eeuurrp - watch closely, Summer," Rick said, and administered the first swat to Beth's bottom, right where her cheek was at its reddest. "If you keep up that attitude, this'll be you soon. Can you recommend that, Beth?" He swatted her again, and again, his rhythm steadily increasing.

_THWAP_

"ooOOOHhhh! I--"

_SMACK_

"Nnnoo-s-sirrr--"

Beth squirmed over her father's lap and within a few swats was already panting and grabbing the cushion in front of her. The thin fabric of her panties rode up the crack of her ass in this position and she could feel how damp she really was and blushed. She wondered whether Dad noticed but his expertly delivered stinging swats soon drove every thought from her mind except the singular knowledge that she was receiving a spanking for the second time in one day and it _hurt._

"Daaaad, ahh!" Beth cringed at an especially hard one and bounced around over his lap. His hand was less hard than the brush, but his pace was quicker, and he was covering the area from her upper thighs to the very top of her bottom and no amount of wiggling she did seemed to impede his progress.

Clenching her thighs together, to hopefully hide the fact that she was now soaked, Beth pushed her face into the couch as her eyes watered. She could feel herself ready to cry but she'd be damned if she let anyone notice. 

"Dad, pleeease, I--ooouch,I-I p-pleeease, dad!"

Beth heard herself babbling against the cushion. She didn't know what she was asking for, but somehow, being spanked like this, and humiliated in front of the entire family just made her need to beg for her father. It no longer mattered that everyone else was watching, she was simply desperate for him to stop. His bunched up lab coat around his hips pooled near her arm, and she grasped it and twisted it in her fist like a security blanket as she pushed her head further into the couch.

"Daaad, _please_ I'll be good, please, Dad, hhhahh!"

Rick had spanked plenty of people in his lifetime, and he certainly knew the tell-tale signs of a naughty girl enjoying her spanking a bit too much. Usually he'd lay into his victim a bit more to make sure they knew that being spanked by Rick Sanchez was meant to be a horrific experience, not a sexy one, but this spanking was technically not a punishment - he was simply using Beth as a demonstration for her wayward daughter. He suppressed a smirk. Might as well let her enjoy it. Perhaps he'd have to have a talk with her about such perversity not being tolerated over his lap.

Finally he stopped spanking her, and hooked his finger behind her panties teasingly - but then withdrew his hand and simply rested it on Beth's bottom, the tip of his pinky finger just touching the wet patch between her thighs. This whole spanking was a show for the rest of the family, really, but that little touch - that was just for her.

With his other hand, he grabbed her roughly by the hair, and pulled up her head. "Look at your mother, Summer," he bit at his granddaughter. "Th-this is what happens if you try to fuck with me, okay?" He pulled Beth's long hair a bit harder for good measure. "Do you understand me, Summer? Or do you - do you need a personal demonstration?"

Between the sweet little point of pressure between her thighs from Dad's pinky and the way her head was yanked back to stare at her daughter, pouty and tear-stained, Beth was positive today would be the apex of embarrassing moments. At least she could take solace in the fact that literally nothing would top this--at least she hoped. 

Her bottom was on fire all over again but getting spanked on top of a previous spanking did it's job, and instead of resisting, the blond simply lay cooperatively over her dad's lap, bright red ass high in the air as she sniffled and lowered her eyes while Summer stared at her. 

Beth wasn't the only Smith who was embarrassingly damp between her legs. Summer clenched her thighs as she observed the scene and felt a mix of horror and longing. Grandpa Rick's undivided attention like that...seemed both appealing and yet uniquely terrible. Summer bit her lip as he asked if she'd like to follow her mother in a trip across his knee. Common sense said NO. Her mom was a sniffly, red-bottomed mess and Rick looked positively deadly; with a devilish smirk and strong, knotty hands holding her curvy teenage form in place.

With a jolt, Summer realized she was _checking out_ Grandpa Rick and flushed as she too lowered her eyes and mumbled out "ahh--I'm uhh, I understand you Grandpa Rick." She fidgeted slightly in her seat, no longer bratty exactly....but now infinitely curious, although she'd never admit to it.

Rick quirked an eyebrow. If the Smith boys were exclusively terrified of him, his girls seemed to be a bit more ambivalent about their current arrangement. No matter. He'd be able to put the fear of Sanchez in all of them regardless. Really, de-aging themselves was the best thing Beth and Jerry could ever have done for him. He'd had plans for the afternoon - some off-world bargain hunting (ironically, to fix up the very sofa that started this mess), a bit of tinkering in the garage. Usually he'd be pissed with his family for distracting him from his work, but today, he couldn't say he minded all that much.

"Glad to hear it, Summer," he sneered, and helped Beth to her feet. He held onto her hand, every inch the stern father disciplining his little girl. "I'll hold onto y-your phone until to-euugh-morrow so you can think this over." He looked over at Morty and Jerry, and jerked his thumb at the stairs. "You too. Early bedtime for all of you. I'll be up in half an hour, and I expect lights to be out, a-and everyone to be asleep."

Morty immediately scampered up the stairs - this wasn't his first rodeo - and Jerry followed soon after, clutching his bottom and walking more slowly than his son. Rick didn't wait for Summer to be out of earshot before pulling Beth to stand between his legs, and wiping at her red, tear-stained face. "Y-you've been a good girl, Beth," he grinned, squeezing her hand. "Th-that second spanking can't have been fun, and you didn't even deserve it." His tone was purposefully neutral, but the way his eyes pierced hers made it very clear that he knew exactly how 'not fun' her second trip over his knee had been.

Beth nearly choked as her father's gaze saw right through her facade and she shifted back and forth on her feet between his legs. Still held close, she leaned in slightly, her thighs brushing against his inner thighs as she stood between his legs. With her free hand she reached back and gently touched her sore bottom, wincing at the pain as she sniffled ruefully,

"I didn't _mean_ to-to..." her hand moved from her ass to her crotch where her fingers tentatively shielded herself from Dad. God this was mortifying. But as he was holding her hand and gently smoothing her cheeks free from tears, she noticed he didn't look angry so much as bemused. 

She chewed her lip, "I p-promise I'm taking you seriously," She whined, feeling younger and smaller than she thought possible, "I wasn't trying to...you know, during my spanking, _honest_."

"I know, baby," Rick said. She looked lovely like this, his beautiful daughter: from her perky tits to her tear-stained face, from her narrow hips to her messed up-hair. "Y-you did a good job, and I'm proud." Still holding her hand, he put his other hand over the one on her crotch, his long fingers easily covering hers.

His face remained neutral, save for a hint of a smirk at the corners of his lips as he gently, soothingly rubbed the wet crotch of her panties. Maybe she deserved a little treat - _he_ certainly did, as his hand stung like a bitch and his arm felt sore after administering three hard spankings in the span of an hour.

"You know your dad's gonna take care of you, right?" he teased, his tone ambiguous.

"Ahhnn--" The sweet little moan snuck out before Beth could contain it, and flushing even redder she nodded "Yesss--"

His fingers between her legs bullied hers away, and she could only gasp and groan at the sensation--and he was _barely_ touching her. Hyper sensitive and still half-weepy, she leaned forward more, her right leg hiking up gently to rest her bent knee on top of his thigh, spreading her legs slightly and giving him more access. 

It was depraved, and she knew it, but she was desperate for him suddenly, and with the rest of the family gone, well--

"Dad..." She ground slightly against his fingers with her crotch, and hummed as her other hand reached up to his shoulder to grip.

"That's it, Beth," Rick muttered. "Thaaaaat's it..." He let go of her hand to snake around her waist, and lightly tap her ass. "Getting so wet from being spanked by y-your ol' dad," he grinned. "D-didn't know I raised such a - such a naughty girl."

His fingers slowly traced the outline of her cunt through her panties, and threatened to slip below the fabric before he suddenly pulled back. "Pull 'em down," he commanded, voice gravelly and low, a reminder of the voice he'd used on her when she was bent over his knee. "I-I'll show you what happens to girls who like their spankings a - a little _too much."_

Waiting for Beth to shimmy out of her panties, he reached up to lick at his damp fingers with a lascivious grin. He got around, sure, but it'd been a while since he'd been with anyone quite this young and beautiful. The fact that it was his own daughter, well - Rick Sanchez wasn't really one for following the rules anyway.

When she finally stood in front of him, naked from the waist-down, he contemplated helping her out of her shirt but decided to leave it on. If any of the others came down it'd be good to have plausible deniability (before beating their ass, naturally).

The little tap was firm enough to drive a cute little yelp from Beth and she melted at his stern demand. Although he was playing with her, it was absolutely clear that he was completely in control of the entire situation. With her panties at her ankles she shivered at his promise--she wasn't entirely sure if she was about to get spanked _again_ or if he'd slide those long, spidery fingers up inside her. 

Her hand on his shoulder moved against him to cup the back of his neck and play with the little blue hairs at his nape. When did her father become sexy? She was conflicted over what she was doing but god--when was the last time she felt this way? Felt so pathetically turned on and needy that if Dad told her right now to spread her pussy for him she'd obey immediately. Still, she pouted as she spoke to him through trembling lips, determined to at least have a small appearance of protestation. After all, she couldn't let her Dad know just _how badly_ she wanted him...it was poor form to let a man like her father have too much insight. Although, she pondered to herself, it's not like she was doing a good job hiding it.

"I didn't _like_ it, Dad, I--I...mmmff--" She bit her lip and stare at his face, at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he spoke, at his mouth...would he kiss her? Was she a good enough girl to deserve a kiss? "I-I-I" but she didn't want to lie, so Beth floundered for an explanation as she waited anxiously to see what Dad would do next.

Rick hummed and looked pointedly at her pussy. "Y-you sure you didn't like it?" he asked, but Beth's almost shy demeanor mollified him enough that he didn't prod her any further. Instead, he pulled her other knee onto the sofa, splayed his long fingers on her ass, and pulled her closer. "Sure seemed like it," he whispered, his breath - smelling of alcohol - ghosting over her crotch. With his fingers digging into her round bottom - well-spanked, glowing, and hot - he buried his face between her thighs, his nose nestled in the little tuft of blonde hair, and his tongue teasing at her slit.

On a rational level, Rick knew this was wrong. He knew that Beth's heady smell was only so familiar _because_ she was his actual daughter, and he knew that part of his enjoyment was because this was all so disgusting and incestuous. But she looks so pretty, and she made such delicious noises - how was he supposed to resist that?

Pulling away slightly, he looked up at her from under his knitted brow. "Y-you're daddy's good little girl," he smirked, before sticking out the tip of his tongue to flick at her clit. "G-god, y-you're just sopping wet, huh? I-I should spank you more often..."

"Dad!" Beth writhed beneath his attention, her hips pushing forward of their own volition, wriggling to meet her father's teasing tongue as he pushed his face against her. Her hand wound into his hair as she breathlessly rutted against him in her youthful, sensitive teenage body. His long fingers against her freshly spanked butt pinched and grasped her tight enough that it hurt but not enough to be terribly unpleasant. 

With her legs spread over his lap on the couch, she clung to him, shuddered as her clit was teased. 

"Hmph," She pretended to sound sullen when really she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Her Dad's praise shot straight to her heart and she beamed, "you spanked me really hard... _twice_ too," but when his tongue dipped deeper, she forgot about her complaints, " _ohhh_ Daddy, yesss, I'll be--I-I am your good little girl...." this was her _father_ , but good god, she was intensely needy for him, and it was true--soaking wet.

Dad's teasing little smirks made her squirm and she licked her lips as she pressed her Dad's face against her a little harder... she couldn't help it, it felt too good, and really, after two spankings she thought she deserved a little tenderness.

Rick smiled, his face still buried between his daughter's legs. For all her posturing and affected nonchalance, Beth was clearly still easily manipulated by any kind words he deigned to throw her way. Not that he was complaining - hearing that young, high voice croon and sign and call him _daddy_ was absolutely doing it for him, and although he was only half-hard, he was already sporting an impressive bulge.

As Beth forcibly pressed his face into her crotch, he decided she might need a little lesson in how to treat him. She seemed to think that having his tongue buried in her cunt meant that she could treat him like any random schmuck. He removed his hand from her ass, and brought it down - _hard_. He spanked her twice more, before pushing her hips away from him and looking up at her sternly. "Th-this is a _present_ for you, Beth - so y-you better stop being so pushy, or I-I'm sending you to bed, too."

Rick generally did not make empty threats, but he knew it'd be difficult to make good on that purpose. Now that he'd had a taste of his delightfully bratty daughter, he really didn't want to put a stop to this before he had her trembling and whimpering his name. Again he grabbed her ass with one hand and dove forward, one finger running along the edges of her labia as he licked at her clit, only to plunge two of his spindly fingers deep inside her.

"Oooo-- sorryyy, I'm sorry, I don't wanna go to bed yet, I'll be good-" at that moment he slid his fingers up into her pussy and she arched her back with a shallow gasp.

God, she was tight. Damn maybe this teenage body wasn't all bad...two fingers hadn't felt thick inside her since she was...well since high school. Her head abruptly snapped down to stare at her Dad's crotch. He was careless and hedonistic enough that she had seen what he was packing on more than one occasion when he was drunk around the house. She wondered how hard he was...Beth got off on the idea her Dad was turned.

She poured the sugar on, wanting more, "That's feels gooood Daddyyy--" The hand in his hair scratched lightly at his scalp and her other hand trailed against his neck and shoulder, kneading the tense muscle. Beth mewled sweetly as her father's fingers twisted inside her and her thighs trembled around him.

His smell was intoxicating and the sheer lewdness of the moment was making her even wetter. "Wanna--I wanna be so good for you Daddy..." her keigels clenched around his fingers, squeezing them and pulling him deeper, "I _need_ you," suddenly emotional and hormonal, her voice warbled, "th-thank you, and not just for this, f-forrr, for spanking me too, daddy--"

Rick could only groan into Beth's sopping wet pussy as she continued whimpering the _filthiest_ things above him. God, she really had to be pretty sexually unfulfilled if he could whip her into such a slutty frenzy just by beating her ass red. Then again, considering her usual partner was that piece of shit he just sent upstairs, it wasn't much of a surprise that a bit of attention from a real man had her reeling.

Still, he wasn't unaffected himself. Feeling that tight cunt contract around his fingers immediately put images in his mind of pushing Beth down on the couch and ramming his thick cock in her until she forgot her own name. But Rick, for all his perversities and self-indulgences, knew that sometimes it was much, much sweeter to wait.

He pulled away briefly to leer up at his daughter, his fingers still working themselves deeper and deeper into her, spreading her wide, then rubbing insistently at her G-spot. His lips shone wetly. "One of these days, Beth," he said, his voice dark, "o-one of these days y-your daddy's gonna fuck you, if y-you keep talking like that." He pinched her ass and smirked. "A-although... such a, such a bad little girl like you, I-I bet you don't mind."

"Ohhhh, god—” Beth squirmed as his fingers buried deep inside her hooked against her G-spot in a ‘come-hither’ motion and one of her hands reached up to grasp her own breast through her shirt, “Really daddy, you, ahhh—y-you’d fuck me??”

She grabbed the hem of her shirt and hiked it up to her armpits, bunching up right above her bra, her perky boobs barely contained in her bra. She touched herself as she looked down at her father, blushed and breathless; Beth might’ve had the body of a teenager but she still had all the experience of an adult. Licking her lips, she rode Dad’s fingers wondering if she’d be able to seduce him into fucking her _now_. Maybe bent over the arm of the couch…her thoughts wandered to him ravishing her in the bed she and Jerry shared and it drove a fevered groan from deep in her throat. The idea of defiling her marriage bed with her own _father_ was unbelievably hot and with his long fingers stroking firmly inside her she felt her orgasm build and her hands left her breasts to grip Dad’s shoulders again as she panted.

“Daddy, I’m close, I’m—ahhhnn—I-I’m gonna cum—”

Her legs trembled and her vaginal walls clenched and spasmed as a drawn-out groan drifted from her open mouth. She pitched forward, her hands grasping her father’s neck and shoulders as she rode out her orgasm on his fingers, humping against his hand, her long blond hair spilling against her cleavage. With a shudder she came hard, and gasped out her father’s name, holding on to him desperately.

"That's my girl," Rick hissed in her ear, his hot breath smelling of alcohol and ghosting over her soft, plump cheeks. "Th-that's my beautiful girl..." Feeling her spasm and cling to him was immensely satisfying. He never he'd never been the best of dads - in fact, fingering his daughter probably wasn't going to land him a Father of the Year Award anytime soon, either - but at least he could make Beth feel good. That had to count for something.

She looked so gorgeous like this - wanton, depraved, desperate, delirious. In a twisted way he was reminded of her mother, and he felt a wave of affection for her that was all the sweeter because of the perversity it was tinged with. "Such a good girl," he crooned, and he finally withdrew his fingers, tangled his hand in her hair, and pulled her down for a kiss that was - after all the previous debauchery - almost chaste.

"Sit on your dad's lap," he mumbled against her lips, his voice reminiscent of the same commanding tone he'd used with her earlier, when he'd spanked her until she cried.

Beth hummed into the kiss, tasting herself on her father's mouth, along with sweat and old booze and his unbrushed teeth. It was a flavor unlike any she had experienced and it was instantly addictive. 

His firm direction was couched in a stern voice, and Beth, weak in the knees from orgasm and weak-willed from two hard spankings cooperatively sat down and curled up in his lap. The rough material of his pants chafed the naked, sore skin of her bottom and she wished for a moment he had let her pull her panties back up again before sitting down. She reached both hands down to cup her sore bottom as she rubbed her cheek against her father's shoulder affectionately. 

"Thaaat...that felt really good..." She sighed contentedly, suddenly exhausted. Her bottom throbbed uncomfortably and she shifted in his lap, her hand drifting from her ass to her father's chest, where she slowly slid it down until she reached his lower abdomen. 

He was at least partially hard, she could see a massive bulge beginning, and licking her lips she coyly fingered his belt buckle, unsure of how much she was allowed to touch. Tugging at the buckle gently she glanced up at him beneath her long blond lashes and smiled, "May I?"

Rick groaned and couldn't help bucking up at those deft hands on his crotch. If he had his way he'd have Beth bouncing up and down on his cock right now, but Beth seemed a little too forward for his liking. If they were going to continue this domestic discipline arrangement - with intermittent fingering sessions, apparently - it was important to make sure she knew that he was still in charge, always in charge, and that just wanting something badly definitely didn't mean she'd get it.

"No," he replied curtly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away. Looking at her innocent little face almost had his resolve crumbling, but he steeled himself and frowned at her. "Y-you already got a reward and now you want another? Such a greedy, naughty, slutty little girl..." He pulled her closer, fondling her sensitive clit with his thumb, stroking her sore bottom with his other hand. "Maybe i-if - _eeugghh_ \- maybe if you're _really good_ one day, you'll get daddy to pound you until you can't walk, baby girl." He buried his face in her chest, inhaling deeply, her sweet scent as intoxicating as any booze he'd ever laid his hands on.

The hand on her ass slid up her back, and he cradled his daughter against his chest, relishing the feeling of her hair trailing on his face, of her heartbeat, of her soft skin underneath his cheek. How had he ever created something this perfect?

Before he could grow too emotional and give in to his daughter's demands, he gently pushed her off his lap, and stood up himself. He tapped her on the ass - none too gently - and pointed at the stairs. "Off to bed," he commanded.

"Awwww," Beth pouted, her mouth opening to protest, but one glance at the stern, impassable expression on his face made her shut her mouth. Her father had totally, completely cowed her; she picked up her panties and jeans from the heap on the floor, and throwing Dad one last puppy face in a desperate ploy for more (it didn't work) she walked out of the living room toward the stairs. 

"Night, Dad..."

As she turned the corner, the unmistakable noise of someone running up the stairs made her jump. Beth sprinted to the foot of the stairs, but whomever had been listening to the illicit scene in the living room had retreated. She had half a mind to investigate everyone's bedrooms, but she was half-naked, and still wet and messy between her legs. Plus, would Dad believe her if he caught her still walking around after he told her to go to bed? Beth burned with frustration, but wasn't willing to risk a third punishment, so she hurried up the stairs to her bedroom and entering, closed the door behind her, rolling her eyes as Jerry's snore drifted up from the direction of the bed. 

Cleaning up, she fervently hoped whoever had been listening hadn't heard everything. And at least from the stairs perspective hadn't seen anything. Beth smiled grimly to herself; heaven help whoever it was if Dad had happened to hear and decided to check on the sleepers.


	3. Fear and Mortification in the Smith Household

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick kicks things up a notch.

The next morning, everyone was up bright and early for a traditional Smith family breakfast. Beth, looking slightly out-of-place in an apron, had made waffles, and Jerry had - very considerately - placed pillows on both his chair and his wife's. If it hadn't been for that, and for the fact that the both of them still looked like they'd barely graduated high school, it would've been an absolutely normal breakfast.

Morty and Summer good-naturedly argued about their schoolwork, Jerry gulped down waffles with the ravenous appetite of a growing boy, and Beth refilled her family's plates with a smile. Even Rick seemed to be in a jovial mood, and it was as if the events of the previous night had never transpired.

Until it was time to clean up.

As the Smith children brought the dishes to the kitchen, Jerry filled the dishwasher, and Beth put away the waffle iron, Rick sauntered into the kitchen. Examining his nails, he burped, and then coughed, which finally got his family's attention.

"One of you," he said, his tone deceptively nonchalant, "d-didn't do as they were told last night." He left that statement hanging in the air for a moment, before continuing: "E-either that person can come clean right now, or I-I'll treat all of you as if you're... as if you're guilty. So either the... the guilty party can take it all, or I-I'll split it between the four of you."

The tense silence that followed was cut short by a strangled little cry from Beth, who backed up against the counter, hands on her bottom, face ashen. "D-dad--" She whirled on the rest of the teenagers frozen in place in the kitchen, eyes begging silently that the guilty fess up. 

Jerry was no better; whimpering at the idea of facing Rick sans pants once again. Morty and Summer however, swiftly, silently, exchanged a series of furtive glances. Morty was staring at Summer, brow furrowed and fists balled at his sides, while the redhead huffed and crossed her arms. She looked at Morty meaningfully, wordlessly communicating in that strange way siblings do when hiding transgressions from authority figures. Morty clenched his fists tighter and glared at Summer angrily, before darting a look at his mother, and then taking a little step forward, "Rick, i-it was me--"

But Summer angrily interjected, "Morty, shut up!" and then she flushed from the roots of her strawberry hair to the tops of her curvy hips sticking out from low-slung pajama pants. The siblings once again exchanged a look but Summer shushed Morty again, keeping her eyes glued to him, avoiding looking in Rick's direction. Her shoulders were hunched defensively and as she needled Morty to be quiet under her breath, her voice trembled with fear. Morty meanwhile glanced from his mom, to Rick, to his mom again before nodding and grinding out, "Y-yeah, it was-it was me--"

"Smart move, Morty," Rick bit at his grandson. "I-I would've thought you of all people would know better than to - than to go against what I tell you to do." He pulled open one of the drawers and grabbed a wooden spoon, whacking it against his thigh to test it. The resulting _smack_ seemed to satisfy him, and he stalked up to Morty. "Pants and underwear down, and touch your toes," he commanded, voice dripping with disappointment. Still it seemed not all of that disappointment was reserved for his wayward grandson, as his eyes were firmly trained on Summer instead.

"I want the rest of you to watch carefully," he instructed the remaining Smiths slowly, "a-and remember that this is what happens when y-you decide to go behind my back and _lie_." Jerry, who had started inching towards the door, froze in place, fidgeting with his hands and staring at Rick with wide-eyed terror.

"Dad - " Beth tried, but one look from her authoritarian father shut her up immediately. Again Rick turned to scrutinize his granddaughter, his upper lip twisted in a slight snarl. "Y-you're getting sixty, Morty," he said, low and dangerous, "and I want you to - to hold that position. If you move, we're starting over. Is that clear?"

Morty paled, but never let it be said frequent adventures with Rick wasn't toughening him up.

"Y-yes, your--y-you are clear, s-sirrr.."

He walked over by Rick and fiddled with the front of his pj pants, untying them and letting them sag and drop to his feet. He stuck his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs and slowly, he pushed them down, his head following his hands, curling over to preserve his own modesty. Morty gripped his ankles and stared forward at the floor, bracing himself. It was blatantly obvious this was not his first time, or even his second time. His practiced familiarity with the motion, and even his nervous, but resigned demeanor seemed to speak of experience. 

Summer was staring at Morty, her nerves on fire, with the baby hairs on the nape of her neck and against her ears slicked with sweat. She was pinching the sides of her curvy thighs anxiously as she watched the scene unfold. The entire time, she still had not met Rick's eyes, although she felt his gaze on her. She was riveted to her younger brother, but whether she felt inclined to rescue him from impending doom, she didn't indicate either way. When the first swat came down with a noisy crack, she jumped and her head snapped down to stare at the floor.

"Good," Rick said curtly, and put one hand on Morty's back. He barely exerted any pressure - it was clear that if Morty wanted to jump up, Rick wouldn't be stopping him. From the way his features hardened, it was also quite obvious that he'd make good on his promise to start the punishment over from the start.

The next nine swats came in quick succession, covering the entirety of Morty's small, quivering bottom. "Ten," Rick announced. "A-are you going to go against my instructions again, Morty?" He waited for a reply, before laying down the next ten swats - five at a time. The _smack_ of the wooden spoon on flesh echoed through the eerily silent kitchen. Jerry was hysterically chewing at his fingernails, evidently still worried he might somehow be next, and Beth couldn't do anything but watch hollow-eyed as her teenage son's ass got blistered.

"Twenty," Rick said, looking at the other Smiths pointedly. "Th-that's already five more than you would've gotten if you'd... if you'd split this punishment." He whacked Morty again, even harder, and laughed harshly. "Of course it's twenty more than you would've gotten if you hadn't _lied_ to me, huh?"

Morty's ass had gone from pink to red, and was now starting to bruise properly. Each ass cheek had a purple bulls-eye right in the middle of it, and Rick aimed the next nine swats at one of the bruises, turning it from blue, to purple, to purple with a nasty white center. "Halfway through, you little lying cheat," he said, with another meaningful look at Summer.

"Aahhhg--n-no, ssirrrrr--ooh!"

Morty had no such noble reservations as his mother and freely voiced his verbal displeasure at the activity directed at his bottom from the start. Every swat earned a grunt, a groan, or a high pitched, stuttering yelp, as Rick smacked away at his quivering ass.

Morty's mind swam as Rick scolded him, and his eyes burned. Rick was a genius, so Morty had a feeling Rick knew what was really going on. But maybe that's also why he was getting spanked so thoroughly now. He was technically lying to Rick, although it was for a noble purpose. Morty was too tender hearted to watch his mom the get spanked again for Summer, and he figured he could more easily handle what Rick was planning to dish out.

He hadn't thought it'd be sixty however. 

At number 31, Morty leaned forward from the force of the swat and would've careened forward onto the floor were it not for Rick's hand. The warm palm against his back served as a steadying balance even though it afforded no pressure to actually keep him _down_ in position. He steadied himself again, but a few swats later as they began to arrive at number forty, a sharp smack drove an anguished yell from the teenager and he moved his shaking left hand from his ankle to his face, where he choked out a long, throaty sob into his palm. 

"Ahhh-hh, R-rrrrriiiiick--" Morty cried loudly now, his hand returning to grip his ankle as he bawled onto the floor. 

At number 40, Morty yelped loudly again, and Summer took two quick steps forward, but then stopped, shocked at her own movement; her face twisted in a mask of regret and disbelief. Through her barely parted lips her strangled voice whispered "Oh my fucking god, Grandpa Rick--" but it was so soft no one heard the exclamation, except for perhaps it's subject.

Already at forty-five, a middle of snot and tears was collecting between Morty's feet on the floor as he coughed wetly, whimpering as his legs and bottom trembled, anticipating the next smack.

"Don't you _Rick_ me," Rick snorted. "Next time, think twice before you go around acting like a - like an _idiot_." His arm was still sore from last night, but he was determined to make this spanking one that Morty wouldn't soon forget - both to show him that acting like a hero would only land him with a blistered bottom, and to show Summer that her actions had consequences. If he read his granddaughter correctly, the guilt of knowing she was responsible for her little brother's predicament might even hurt more than a spanking would have. Rick sucked in a breath through his teeth, his eyes drifting down his granddaughter's body. He couldn't wait to get his hands on that little brat.

"Fifteen left," he announced, patting Morty's ass with the spoon while tut-tutting. "Look at y-yourself, Morty. Y-you're a disgrace. Such a mess..." He groped his grandson's ass with his free hand, cruelly squeezing the bruised flesh. "J-jesus, Morty... you're gonna be standing at the table for a, for a week."

He looked at the wooden spoon again. For such an innocent-looking implement, he really was properly destroying Morty's ass with it. He felt a pang of guilt - his grandson really only wanted to protect his mother, which was dumb as hell, but kind of sweet as well. Still, catching punishments for other people was not a tendency he wanted to encourage, and so he couldn't go easy on him now.

"For these last fifteen," he said, a cruel smirk playing at his lips, "I want you to _apologize_ to your family for almost getting them in trouble, too. After every one, y-you're gonna say: _I'm sorry you almost took the blame for me, mom_ , and you're gonna apologize to your dad, and you're gonna apologize," and here he paused, only briefly, "to your sister."

Without further warning, he swung his arm back and whacked the spoon against Morty's ass with enough force to have him tumbling forward. "Stay on your feet," he commanded, "and apologize." And again, and again, and again the spoon came down.

The hard hand squeezing his bruised, throbbing bottom drew an anguished sob out of Morty, and the instructions to apologize just exacerbated his self-pity. Morty now completely regretted stepping in to shield his mother, but a fat lot of good regret did him now. He was already mostly done, and at this point, attempting to stop Rick would just put him in worse shape. The teen always felt a bit vexed when he struggled to hold position and Rick called him out on it. Darn it, he was _trying_ , and he thought he had done rather well up to this point, especially considering that Rick was not holding back this morning.

The next swat drove the breath from his lungs and for a terrible few seconds he gasped desperately to drag air back into his lungs before he wailed, long and loud, sore, distressed and frantic for his punishment to be over. _CRACK_ “Sohhhh-sohh-sorryyy y-you almost took the-the blame for me, mommm—“ _THWAP_ “Yaaaahhhghh! I’m—ahh—I’m sorry, y-you almost took the blame for me, dad!” _SMACK_ “Ahhh-ahhh ffffffuu---mmmm—I’m sorry! I’m sorry, y-you almost took the blame for me, _Summer_.” Morty spat his sister’s name out, almost collapsing to his knees just from having to say that aloud. He couldn’t remember hating his sister more than at this moment. 

Summer was biting her lip so hard it bled, and she sucked the metallic taste away as she watched. She didn’t want to watch, but she almost felt like she owed it to Morty now. She was responsible for the ferocious ass beating he was currently enduring and Summer thought it only right that she bear witness. Between watching her mother last night over Grandpa Rick’s lap, and watching Morty right now, bent at the waist, hands around his ankles, red faced and purple bottomed, Summer began to wonder if she should stay at a friend’s house for the week, if only to avoid her eventual turn, which she now considered an inevitability instead of just a chance. Jerry was not as emotionally strong had had long since covered his face, his eyes peeking through his fingers in shock and horror, while Beth stared with a strange, quiet expression at her daughter. If the blond had an inkling to siblings’ secret she didn’t let on, but instead watched them both with interest, wincing at each new swat burned into her son’s color-mottled buttocks.

With five more left, Morty squeezed his ankles harder, begging his self control to hang on for just a terrible few more minutes. The idea of starting over made him nauseas, but he knew Rick better than the rest of the family, and with that knowledge came the certainty that Rick would absolutely begin again, Morty’s thoroughly bruised flesh be damned.

 _SMACK_ “Ahghkk—” he choked on the sob that struggled through his throat, and he almost fell forward again, his feet shuffling awkwardly to support him, his knees buckling as he gripped his ankles. Terrified that Rick might count that as falling out of position, he straightened quickly again, casting a frightened look behind him at Rick’s legs, hoping his minor stumble didn’t count. Whether Rick noticed or not, he didn’t comment and instead waited for Morty to complete his mantra, “I’m ss-sssorryy, you a-almos—took the b-b-blame for me, dad—” the next three proceeded quickly, Morty gasping out his sentence, ready to be finished. As the final swat came crashing down, Morty screamed, his hand coming up again to stifle his own mouth as he looked up from his position directly at Summer standing nearby and angrily stuttered, “I’mmm-I’m s-sorry, y-y-you a-almost t-tooook the blame f-or-for me, Summer.” And then he wept, holding position, all out of energy, crying miserably as he waited for Rick to release him.

Rick put the wooden spoon on the counter, and rubbed his hands together as if to congratulate himself on a job well done. In a way, he was quite proud of his handiwork - this was definitely one of the hardest spankings he'd ever given Morty, and his ass had been turned into a horrible patchwork of angry red, purple, and white splotches. There was no doubt Morty would be sleeping on his stomach for the foreseeable future. Maybe he ought to take him on an adventure sometime soon so he'd have to sit that miserable ass down on the uncomfortable passenger seat in the spaceship... just to drive the point home.

"Morty, corner," he commanded, indicating the corner Morty would be spending quite a bit of time in. He turned to the rest of you, and smugly folded his arms. "Th-this is what _all_ of you can expect if y-you pull a stunt like that. No lying."

Jerry wiped at his eyes; he had evidently been crying, although whether it had been with sympathy for his son or terror that this might one day happen to him wasn't clear. "U-understood," he sniffled, "sir."

Rick shot him a wary look. Jerry had certainly taken to their new dynamic with almost pathological enthusiasm. Maybe the man had been longing to be taken in hand like this for years. That took the fun out of it a little bit, but he'd definitely have his hands full with the Smith girls. "I-I'm sure my girls would never _betray_ me like that," he crooned, his tone sickly sweet. "That right, Beth?"

Morty straightened, his back cracking as he got to his feet and shuffled quickly to the corner, in a hurry to be out of Rick’s arm’s reach. Safely against the wall, he leaned his head against the cool surface and let himself cry, too sore and exhausted to be ashamed about his whimpering public display of self-pity.

Summer wordlessly watched him walk over and then kept her eyes on him, staring openly, shocked and horrified. If she thought her dad’s ass yesterday looked bad, Morty’s looked insane; she felt a newfound respect welling up inside her just for the fact that he had kept position and endured Grandpa Rick’s wrath. Speaking of Grandpa Rick, Summer cringed as he referenced his “girls,” and she stole a glance over at her mother.

Beth was better now that Morty was no longer be thrashed in front of her face, although her motherly instincts still screamed at her to go and console her son. She wondered how much trouble she’d be in for going and hugging Morty—she doubted her father would let her, as this had been a punishment, and corner-standing was part of it. Dad’s question was loaded, as if he was sternly implying that whatever small alliances or partnerships the teens might have formed between themselves would be looked at as insubordination, and Beth trembled. “N-no never, Dad.” She caught Summer staring at her and averted her eyes. She knew the redhead was guilty of _something_ , Beth was a mother and could spot a culpable kid when she saw one. She in no way wanted it to appear that she was privy to whatever Summer had done; whether her daughter knew it or not, Beth as certain that her father was already plotting to ensnare her daughter, and she wanted to be far, far away from the epic consequences that awaited her.

Summer frowned as her mother looked away, and she felt her stomach flip-flop as she internally wondered if she looked guilty. She hadn’t _meant_ to listen in on the entire scene between Grandpa Rick and her mother...but once she heard the first few notes of tenderly-spoken praise from Grandpa Rick’s normally rough voice, she had been enchanted. The more she listened the better and... _hotter_ it became, even though Summer knew full well how revolting it was what transpired and even more so that she had had her hands down her pants while she listened. Another sorrowful sob from Morty in the corner interrupted Summer’s train of thought and she brought her face up, looking over at Grandpa Rick in his face for the first time since he had re-entered the kitchen. She was curious—how could she not be? But she was also absolutely petrified now as well, and as her eyes met the cold blue ones sitting beneath a furrowed brow, she contemplated not coming home from school in the afternoon.

Morty stayed home from school that day, with Rick's permission. The kid was an absolute mess and Rick had to admit he'd gone a bit too far with his poor grandson, so he was allowed to lie on his bed on his stomach, where he spent the afternoon either sobbing into his pillow or sleeping in fitful snatches. Jerry and Beth went about their days as best they could, pretending they weren't currently two adults stuck in teenage bodies with a growling old man threatening to beat their ass at the slightest misstep. Rick was gone for most of the afternoon, and whenever he was home, he shut himself up in the garage - apparently it was business as usual as far as Rick was concerned.

That afternoon, Summer did not come back from school. This in itself was not so unusual, but when she still hadn't shown her face for dinner (Morty tearfully standing up as he morosely stuffed mashed potatoes in his mouth) Beth and Jerry started getting antsy. Rick remained as serene as he'd been all day after his outburst in the kitchen, but then finally announced: "I'm heading out. I-I'll be back in an hou... - euughh - hour tops, and I expect all of, all of you to be in bed." And with that, he portaled out, the remaining family members staring at the wall he'd walked through.

He wasn't surprised that Summer had decided to fly the coop, but he was relieved. He was worried he'd have to wait weeks before she finally messed up and gave him the opportunity to punish her for all her past transgressions, but it had only taken a little over twenty-four hours for her to screw up.

Unconcerned with his granddaughter's reputation, he portaled around town, visiting the houses of the friends she'd had over, and the ones he remembered from his brief stint at their high school. None of them seemed to have seen her after school, but Rick wasn't one to shy away from a challenge.

Summer nervously glanced over her shoulder for the hundredth time that day. Immediately after school, she had walked the short mile into the center of town to the bus station, and climbed onto the first bus that stopped, and hadn’t gotten off since. She figured her cousin’s house three towns over would be a fitting temporary escape; and then maybe she could get on a train to—well to anywhere. Summer frowned as she stared out the window. She knew it was stupid to be travelling without a plan, but going home wasn’t an option; especially now that she had missed dinner. After witnessing what Grandpa Rick was capable of this morning, Summer had decided there was no way she was walking back into that house until her parents were back in charge.

She looked at the seat behind her again and exhaled in relief upon finding it empty. At first she had considered going to a friend’s house; but she doubted Grandpa Rick would wait till they got home to...to _spank_ her, and anyway, moving seemed safer than staying stationary. Perhaps it would be harder for Grandpa Rick to find her if she was constantly in transit. Her more logical side scoffed. Was she planning on running forever? Summer had no answer to that question and folded her arms anxiously. All she knew was that she didn’t want to face her grandfather, particularly because she had a feeling he had already figured out that it was her, not Morty who had sat on the stairs and listened the night before.

The redhead stared down at her hands and sardonically moved her thumbs, pretending to text. She’d been too terrified of Grandpa Rick this morning to ask for her phone back, so on top of panic, anxiety, and a terrible sense of foreboding, she was also dealing with crushing boredom. 

The bus beeped and the announcement chimed that they had just arrived at her destination. Glancing out at the dark city through the windows, Summer took a deep breath and stood up, hoping she’d be able to quickly locate her cousin’s house before it got too late; she knew it wasn’t a good idea to walk around on her own so late at night, but she was really out of options. Shrugging her backpack on, she thanked the bus driver as she stepped off and out the doors into the cool night. Once again she glanced behind herself, before taking a deep breath and quietly encouraging as she talked to herself out loud.

“Iiiiit’s okay, Summer. You’re like, three hours away at this point, you’ll be _fiiiiine_.”

"Yeah?" came a dark voice from behind her, and Rick stepped forward, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his lab coat. "Fine, huh?" He eyed his granddaughter up and down, raised an eyebrow when he noticed her backpack, and shook his head. "Y-you're supposed to be the smart one."

He grabbed her by the arm to prevent her running away (again), but his grip was not as bruising as it could have been. If anything, he seemed pretty calm and level-headed. "We're gonna go home, Summer," he commanded, but even then his voice was nothing like the harsh tone he'd used with Morty that morning. He simply sighed deeply and shook his head again, before creating a portal and dragging his granddaughter through it.

Beth, Jerry, and Morty had obediently retreated to bed, and Rick and Summer returned to a dark, silent house. Rick simply marched her to the foot of the stairs and pointed up. "Bed," he said, and turned on his heel, to retreat into the garage. He locked the door behind him, and while the Smiths slept (some soundly, some decidedly less so), sounds of tinkering could be vaguely heard throughout the house.

Summer had been so thoroughly, so completely shocked at Grandpa Rick finding her so easily that she hadn’t been able to respond, and after being dragged back home and sent to bed without so much as a scolding, Summer was certain that the only reason why her ass wasn’t blistered was because Grandpa Rick was _planning_. And that frightened her even more. She spent the night wide awake in bed, tossing back and forth, her nerves tingling and raw. If she had been anxious before, she was doubly so now; and the distant sounds of whirring and hammering from the garage downstairs wasn’t very soothing.

She found herself wishing that Grandpa Rick had just gotten it over with already. In fact, she wished that she had spoken up this morning at breakfast, because then at least her conscience wouldn’t be burdened by Morty’s suffering as well. Burying her face in her pillow, Summer cried fretfully, weighed down by a toxic combination of guilt and trepidation the likes of which she hadn’t experienced before. She almost looked forward to seeing her grandfather in the morning, if only so she could face what was coming and be absolved, because at this point, Summer was positive her warring emotions were more unpleasant than what Grandpa Rick had planned.

Dawn found the assembled family in the kitchen. Morty, having slept soundly, was still standing at his place at the table but seemed relatively better, although he still winced when he walked. Jerry was neurotic and jumpy and overly polite; he seemed to now live in a state of near-constant worry that at any moment he’d be snatched up and turned over a lap at the slightest provocation. Beth was the most well-adjusted, her bottom was sore, but healing quickly, and she seemed to be taking the treatment of the rest of the family in stride; correctly assuming that it didn’t really matter what her opinion was on the subject, and that the more she stayed out of Dad’s way the better.

Summer was a wreck. Her eyes were framed by bags from her sleepless night, and if Jerry was jumpy, Summer was _panicky_ , although she hid it much better, and the only people who noticed were Beth and Rick, the former making a point to steadfastly ignore it. While everyone else gamely chattered at the breakfast table, doing their level best to enjoy the meal, Summer moodily pushed the food around on her plate, unable to eat and unable to look up from where her gaze was cemented to the table—terrified that she might glance up and catch Rick’s eye.

Rick, for his part, seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood. He ruffled Morty's hair as he came to the table, gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek, magnanimously refrained from making fun of Jerry, and - seemingly harmlessly - found opportunity after opportunity to ask Summer questions.

"Summer," he'd say, sternly, only for her to jump up, and he'd then follow it up with a "How's y-your, how's your Science project coming along?" And minutes later, another "Summer!" accompanied by a slap on the table, followed by a "I-I forgot - are you, are you still seeing that, that Evan kid?" And again, and again: "Summer! Y-you sleep all right?", "Summer - could you - euughh - pass me the OJ?", "Summer, give y-your mom a hand, will you?"

The other family members seemed nonplussed as well, but knew better than to ask questions. They also didn't catch the nasty little smirks Rick threw Summer whenever their attention was elsewhere. Despite appearances, it was clear that Rick had not forgotten, and it was only after breakfast, when everyone went their separate ways, that he pulled her close and whispered in her ear: "In two days' time, after breakfast. And - eugh - if you try running away _again_ , you'll only be making things worse for yourself."

And with that he left her, and, whistling, returned to the garage.

Two days later, Rick did not show up for breakfast, claiming he was busy. Noises from the garage and the living room seemed to corroborate this story; it sounded like Rick was drilling and welding up a storm. Morty, who was usually slightly more in the loop, didn't seem to know what was going on either - none of them had seen much of Rick the past few days.

The past forty-eight hours had been hell. It was now going on four days Summer had been without her phone and between that and the anxious waiting for whatever her grandfather had planned, Summer was not coping well. When Grandpa Rick had mysteriously alerted her that she was going to have to wait two days for him to deal with her, it sent her mind into overdrive, and the past two nights had been spent restlessly tossing back and forth as she pictured the absolute worse things he could possibly do to her. Archaic torture devices she remembered seeing in books about the Spanish Inquisition featured prominently in her dreams, and by the time breakfast of the doomed second day arrived, Summer seemed not just exhausted, but _drained._

Yesterday Morty had found Summer’s distress to be somewhat amusing. She did, after all, richly deserve the stress of Rick’s mind games. But today he felt a little sorry for her, if only because Rick didn’t usually wait this long to do something, and when he did, it meant he was spending a lot of time planning. Rick Sanchez was scary, Rick Sanchez with a plan was nightmarish. When breakfast ended, Morty took Summer’s plate to the sink for her, and dropped his voice confidentially as he passed.

“Uhh..you...you okay, Summer? You've been looking kind of... _worried_ the past few days..." He gave her a sympathetic look as he held her plate.

Summer tiredly sighed as she looked at her brother, “Hey Morty? I’m really sorry. I should’ve...should’ve said that days ago...but I am. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Morty shrugged, no point in being mad at his sister anyway, “Y-you can go, I'll take your plate...”

Smiling gratefully, Summer backed away from the kitchen table, and thanking her mom for breakfast, retreated to the downstairs bathroom where she sat on the closed toilet and stared at herself in the mirror. She wondered if she was being dramatic...but it was Grandpa Rick’s fault for dragging it out and getting her so worked up. A pang of indignation shot through her and livened her up: this was so unfair. Everyone else was dealt with right way, why did she have to wait!? Summer sat up, glaring at her reflection, well, her wait was over right? She tied her hair into a tighter pony tail, peed, washed her hands, washed her face, and squared her shoulders; well, she wouldn’t give Grandpa Rick the pleasure of seeing her cower!

Stomping out of the bathroom, through the house, and toward the garage door, Summer passed through the kitchen, walking right by Morty, who slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned; Summer looked like she was angling to fight, but she was picking a fight with the wrong person. 

Stepping right up to the closed door, red-faced and fraught with emotion, Summer sharply rapped against the wood.

The door opened just a bit, and Rick's head popped around it. "Go to your room," he snapped before Summer had a chance to talk. "I-I'll call you down."

The door immediately slammed shut again, and Summer had no choice but to trudge back up the stairs.

Disturbing noises rang out through the house, and it was an hour before Rick could be heard barking from the bottom of the stairs: "Everyone in the living room, now." Jerry immediately scampered downstairs from the study where he'd been hiding, Morty left his room looking decidedly miserable, and Beth came out from the kitchen, where she'd been working on dinner.

The living room had been rearranged. The sofa had been pushed back, the coffee table had been pushed against the wall, as had the TV. Instead, in front of the sofa there stood a contraption roughly six feet long, four feet high, and five feet wide. It was made up of an intricate pattern of tubes which had been welded together, straps, and (most notably) a wicked-looking plastic paddle connected to what looked like the engine of a small car. It looked like the kind of prop one might find on the set of a snuff film, or in the basement of an alien serial killer. Rick ran his hand over the gleaming chrome of the frame, smiling proudly, and turned to Summer.

"I-I want to make one thing very clear," he said, his tone deceptively neutral. "People who lie and run around and th-think they're smarter than me - eeugh - they're a waste of my time." He jerked his thumb at Morty. "When Morty fucks something up, I spank him to show him I want him to be better." He glanced at Morty, who was staring slack-jawed at the machine, "and that I love him. I-isn't that right, Morty?"

Morty nodded silently, a bit flustered. His ass was still intensely sore, but that hair ruffle during breakfast had done quite a bit to mollify him, and hearing Rick say (out loud!) that he _loved_ him was a rare and unexpected treat.

"But _you_ , Summer," and here a bit of venom crept into Rick's tone, "y-you're not worth my time. So I'm strapping you into this baby, and I'll see when I - when I feel like y-you're done."

It was exactly as bad as she imagined. No, worse. At least the ancient machines dreamt up by metalsmiths in the Dark Ages were man-powered. Grandpa Rick’s gleaming apparatus had a _motor_ attached, and all the confidence and self-assurance Summer had spent the last hour building up in her chest while confined to her room, drained out as soon as she walked into the living room. She’d been staring at the thing in mute horror, but as soon as Grandpa Rick stated the _reason_ for why he had built it, Summer completely deflated. Her eyes welled up as her grandfather’s biting announcement tore her to shreds, and she wondered how badly this thing could actually hurt her. Grandpa Rick wouldn’t go as far as to cripple her, would he? Can someone be crippled from being spanked hard enough? Did Grandpa Rick really not care about her? The last question she asked herself sank in deeper than she would’ve cared to admit.

But while Summer had been silently assessing the situation, Beth and Morty jumped to her defense.

“Dad, oh my _god!”_ Beth clapped her hands to the sides of her face and shook her head, “This—this—this—Dad, you...you can’t—”

Morty was similarly impassioned. Rick had certainly been pretty harsh with him before, but this was unusually imaginative and nasty, even for Rick. “Rick, jeez, y-you—”

 _”It’s okay!”_ Summer’s high-pitched but forceful voice made her mother and brother both pause to look back at her. Summer felt numb as she slowly walked over to her grandfather, her legs shaking with each step. She felt like she was going to puke, and she weirdly hoped she did, if only to get Grandpa Rick’s machine dirty. After two days of frantic waiting, she almost felt like this was a fitting end to the three-day struggle she had just endured...but hearing her grandfather dismiss her worth so firmly hurt more than any of the worrying she had done.

Staring at the machine, Summer’s voice was still high-pitched with anxiety but was quiet and pinched, “It’s okay,” She repeated, perhaps more to reassure herself than her would-be rescuers, “I...I deserve it,” she turned her head slightly, unable to look at Morty, but directing her soft voice toward him, “I’m sorry again, Morty.” She had now reached the front of the living room where the machine was sitting, and keeping her eyes rooted to the instrument of her doom she tried and failed a few times to speak to Rick. Her hands trembled at her sides as she kept her gaze lowered...she’d probably never be able to look Rick in the eye again. “Um...I uh...I-I understand G-grand—I understand...sir...”

While the rest of the family felt for Summer's plight (even Jerry, while he was too scared to speak up, reached out to touch Summer's shoulder with a trembling hand as she walked past him in a small gesture of support), it was clear that Rick had no such qualms. If he did, they certainly didn't show on his face, which was frozen in a mask of condescending impassivity. He allowed the Morty and Beth their protests, but it was obvious that he would not be swayed. "S-stop feeling sorry for yourself," he huffed. "I-I assure you you're... you're - euugh - gonna have something to feel sorry about pretty soon."

He stepped towards her to roughly unbutton her jeans, and he slid them down, helping her out of them with business-like gestures. It seemed more like he was handling a mannequin than his granddaughter. Still there was a moment of hesitation when he came up again, and his hands hovered next to her hips, about to slide down her panties - until he apparently changed his mind. He looked down at Summer, his eyes unreadable, and began strapping her into the frame.

The machine had been designed to support a variety of poses, and Summer found herself bent over at the waist, her upper body parallel to the floor with her arms outstretched, her wrists were strapped to the frame, ensuring she wouldn't be moving around. Another strap was slung around her waist, and then finally around her ankles, to fully immobilize her.

"The rest of you can stay or leave," Rick told the rest of the family. "She'll be here a while." And with that, he positioned the paddle so that it would land squarely on her ass, and turned the dial next to the engine. With a dreadful rattling sound, the paddle was pulled back, and back - and then sprung forward, with surprising force. Again it withdrew slowly, accompanied by the same creaking sounds, and again it smacked forward.

Summer allowed herself to feel at least minor relief that her underwear would stay up, but once she was strapped down she realized the protection was infinitesimal. Grandpa Rick's callous, cold handling of her was equally distressing, and as he informed the family they could leave, she suddenly felt very isolated. The idea of being watched was humiliating, but the idea of being left to her doom with Grandpa Rick as the only witness made her feel forsaken. Needless to say, before the first swat even landed, Summer was already teary, though she held back simply to not give her grandfather the credit of making her cry before she even got started. 

The first swat hurt more than Summer thought it would, and as it landed her head snapped up in shock. She wouldn't seriously "be here for a while".....would she? The ominous creaking sounded behind her again and she braced herself. Swat #2 was just as bad, maybe worse, and a low groan eeked out of the redhead as she rested her forehead between her outstretched arms. 

Once her father gave them the option, Beth spun on her heel and exited. She couldn't stomach her second child in the same week turned purple by her Dad. And since she was helpless to stop it, and any assistance to Summer would make trouble for them both, Beth decides the best thing she could do was leave. Jerry remained rooted in place, staring with fascination at the machine, but after the first couple swats, with his head down and a shudder running up his back, he also retreated back to the den.

Morty watched. Partly out of solidarity with Summer, and partly out of his duty, he felt, to ensure it didn't get out of hand. Normally Morty implicitly trusted Rick, especially in disciplinary matters, but his scolding of Summer had been mean, even for him.

Summer meanwhile, had heard the footsteps of at least two people leave, and since her ass was facing out to the living room, she couldn't see whom, if anyone was left. Not that it was top-of-mind for her. She was now past ten swats, had already lost count, and was struggling with her composure. She couldn't wiggle in any meaningful way, so the paddle hit exactly the same spot each time. She had managed to hold it together this far, but now the swats prompted gravelly moans from the redhead as she panted and writhed as much as she was able. The monotony of the machine, no variation of speed or strength, no change in timing, made the entire experience surreal. The next swat had Summer yanking her wrists against the restraints as she sounded off her first yell of distress. The next one brought fast, silent tears streaming down her face, and the next one, a wretched sob that stretched out long and loud against the rhythm of smacks in the background. Through it all, Morty watched.

As if there wasn't currently a punishment machine set up in the living room that was paddling the living daylights out of his teenage granddaughter, Rick sank down on the sofa and spread his arms and legs as he would if he was watching TV. Of course, there was something much better to watch instead - Summer struggling to keep her composure as his expertly constructed machine showed Summer just what happened to people who tried to deceive him.

Insubordination, mistakes, and general brattiness he could deal with. But the fact that she'd let Morty take the fall had disappointed him more than he'd let on, and although he itched to have her over his lap and lay into her himself, he knew that this would be a much more convincing method of showing her that there were worse things than to be spanked by Rick - being spanked by a car engine hooked up to a paddle being just one of them.

Plus, this way he could focus on the lecture. "Th-there we go," he sneered as Summer finally broke down. "There come the tears. Good." He stretched out his arms, leisurely reclining on the sofa. "M-means your punishment starts now. H-hey, Summer - tell me, why are you, why are you being punished, huh?"

"AH-hhhuhhhh--"

Summer cried harder hearing Grandpa Rick calmly inform her that her punishment had just begun. Although she hadn't been over his knee yet, Summer was fairly positive that this was worse. Her arms and legs ached from the position she was held in, she was sweating from a combination of stress and pulling against the restraints in vain, and on top of it all, her ass hurt so intensely, the only thing she could focus on was the next swat coming. 

It was a full minute before she realized she'd been asked a question. "Cuz I like--owww-howww-c-cuz I, (sniff) d-didn't come home a-after school and tried to run away--" The monotonous swats kept coming, and Summer bent her head and cried again before catching her breath and bawling dramatically, "a-and cuz I didn't go to bed when you said-and-and - and thenn, then Morty took the blaaaa-haaaaame--" 

Somehow admitting out loud that she had let her younger brother take the fall for her made it feel even worse, and Summer began sobbing onto the cold metal of the machine beneath her head, her body rocking with sobs punctuated by a sharp gasp every time the paddle hit her again. 

Morty scrubbed a tear from his eye before it fell. He'd assumed it's be fun to watch Summer get her just desserts, but it was actually miserable. But still he felt that he had to see it through, so he folded his arms over his stomach and watched sympathetically.

"Three for three," Rick laughed, and followed it up with an entirely unnecessary slow clap. "Y-you got it, Summer." He pulled out his flask and took a swig. This was one of the most relaxing spanking methods ever. He'd have to keep this machine around for future use. He carefully surveyed the machine. There were definitely more things he could mount on that frame... perhaps Summer was lucky she was only experiencing the prototype.

He glanced at Morty, who seemed more emotional about what was happening than he'd been expecting him to be. Then again, his grandson had proven time and time again to have an overdeveloped (and usually faulty) moral compass, so he probably thought Rick was going too hard on his sister. "Morty, if y-you're just gonna - eugh - stand there and whine, y-you can leave." His tone left no doubt about it, and just to clear things up entirely, he gave Morty a long, hard look that suggested he make himself scarce.

"Y-you feeling sorry yet, Summer?" he asked, leaning to the side to better see her ass. His machine seemed to be doing its job well - even with her panties on, her ass was bright red already, and about get properly bruised.

Morty fidgeted. It was clear that Rick was telling him to get out, but he felt bad. Glancing one more time at his sister, he turned to give Rick a serious, almost accusatory stare as he slowly backed up and left the room.

Summer, unaware of the exchange behind her simply kept crying miserably. At least she had gotten the answer right, but it didn't seem like her punishment would be ending any time soon. Her grandfather's question frustrated her and she pulled at the wrist restraints, unable to do anything else to express her irritation. "I've BEEN feeling sorry, alreadyy--" Summer hiccuped pathetically as she spoke through tears, "I--ahhowww--I've been like, hating myself about this for days!"

Still the machine swatted away. Summer wiggled her legs in the straps, becoming desperate for some sort of release, if only so she could focus on something else. But she was held firm, and no amount of pulling or wriggling got her anywhere. She knew at least Rick was still present, but it just made her angry and sullen that he deemed her unworthy of effort. How dare he sit and watch but not lift a finger to participate. Summer's remorse was halted for a brief spat of fury, "I already--yeowch--f-feel horrible, just like you--ahhh!--like you wanted Grandpa Rick, so j-just set a timer and come back since-since you--since I'm not worth your ti-hiii-hiiiime!" 

Her brief rant over, Summer collapsed onto the machine, sorrowful again, her forehead banging noisily against the metal beneath her, she sobbed; dejected and miserable. She hated to admit it, but Morty being the favorite grandchild was always a mild source of contention because she loved her grandfather so much. Having him summarily dismiss her into the embrace of a steel contraption was almost too much for Summer to deal with.

Rick made a face at his grandson's retreating back. Usually Morty's admonishments didn't even put a dent in his self-confidence, but this time they seemed - ugh, slightly more _justified_ than normal. Rick noted with dismay that now _he_ was beginning to feel bad for his granddaughter, which was definitely not his usual attitude towards corporal punishment. He staggered to his feet, took another sip, and decided that given his current state of mind, there was really only one thing he could do.

"Y-yeah," he muttered as he made his way around the machine. The frame was sturdy enough to resist Summer's wiggling, bit the leather of the straps creaked and strained to contain her. He'd have to oil them up next time. "Sorry for yourself is not the, not the kind of sorry I-I'm after, _Summer_.

He ignored her outburst - merely rolling his eyes behind her back; these teens were all so overdramatic all the time - and walked up to the dial. Morty's accusing stare seemed to hang in the room even though Morty himself was gone, and Rick's hand hesitated over the dial. Was he really being cruel here? At which point did this stop being domestic discipline and start being abuse? Did Summer deserve better than this?

"Ah, fuck it," he sneered, and he turned the dial up. The machine ground to a halt for a moment - and then resumed, in double speed. "No way I-I'm leaving," he said, leaning against the frame, a nasty grin on his face. "And miss this spectacle?"

The machine’s brief pause was Summer’s opportunity to suck wind, which she took advantage of and panted heartily, but all the breath she collected was soon dragged back out as the paddle swung back down again. She arched her back and yelped at the pain, but the intensity hadn’t changed. Just as she was about to ponder whether she was still being swatted at the same level or if her ass had somehow become numb, her train of thought was disturbed by another swat. And then another right after. The increased speed was perhaps worse than if the paddle had swung harder because Summer’s miniature coping system she had fallen into: swat, cry, breathe, brace yourself, swat, etc. was now completely thrown off. She hadn’t thought it was possible for her to cry harder than she was, but Summer was in for a lot of surprises today. Unable to predict the timing of the swats because she was so distressed, all Summer was able to do now was lay still and endure.

Grandpa Rick’s presence beside her only served as another source of stress. While normally Summer often found her grandfather’s company enjoyable, even sometimes comforting, right now it was dreadful. His calm assertion that she evidently wasn’t the right kind of sorry infuriated her, and she tried to tell him so,

“I’m—ahh! I’m not—OUCH! M-m-m-mor—ooh! I’mmmmaaahhhh!” Summer gave up. There was no way she’d be able to articulate her frustration, and anyway did it matter? She could feel her grandfather’s eyes watching her, he clearly was in no hurry to stop his horrible contraption. She plunked her forehead down on the metal beneath her. It hurt, but at least that was one thing she could move and control, so she did it again; anything to distract her from her ass which was currently being set ablaze. And through it all, Summer cried pitifully, only surviving a few minutes at the increased speed before the poor teenager was reduced to begging.

“Pleee-hic-eaase—” Summer’s voice took on a note of desperation, “I’m-I’m sohhhrryyy, _please_ G-gran-pa Riiiickk—ahhhh-”

Summer was sure that she had been strapped down for hours at this point. It wasn’t just her ass that screamed in agony, but her shoulders hurt from her frustrated yanking on the restraints, her back ached, her legs trembled, her forehead throbbed from her banging it, and the searing pain of Grandpa’s Rick disappointment saturated her through and through.

“I’ll beeeee goooood—(hic) I pro-ahh! p-promise, pleeeease—yeow-ow! I’m sohhh-hooo-hoorryyyy—Gran-paa—I’ll never—I won’t—dis-disobey again I _swear_ oh my gooood ahhh!”

Rick was pleased to find he had been correct; any feelings of guilt and sympathy had dissipated the moment he turned up the dial. There was nothing like a beautiful little ass being turned all shades of red and purple to make a person feel like they were accomplishing something of value. There was no doubt in his mind that Summer would think twice before lying to him again, and she would _definitely_ think twice before trying to run away once more.

"Yeah, Summer?" he said, his tone mocking. "Y-you're _sorry_ , huh? Wonder if that - euughh - if that has anything to do with, with the fact that you're getting your ass beat." As he said it, he suddenly realized that his lecturing didn't make him feel as good as it usually did. While he loved spanking people, he loved belittling them just as much, if not more - but there wasn't much fun in belittling Summer any longer, as she clearly was feeling as small as she ever would already.

And so, as nonchalantly as he'd fired up and dialed up the machine, he switched it off. With a final sighing noise, the engine stopped, and the paddle trembled in place. "Done," Rick announced curtly, and he began to unstrap Summer's wrists, ankles, and then finally her waist - making sure to support her when he undid the final restraints, as he figured she'd collapse the moment she didn't have the machine to keep her in position.

Her spanking stopped so suddenly, Summer was unaware that she was done until Grandpa Rick actually said ‘done’ in her ear. As the straps were removed, Summer shakily stood up only to feel herself starting to collapse, but Grandpa Rick’s arm wound around her waist held her up. Summer wanted to push away from him and refuse to be comforted, as she was still feeling mistreated, but despite her best intentions, she let herself fall against his chest and she clung to him, twisting his shirt and lab coat in her hands as she wept into him. She felt snot run against her lips from her nose and she pushed her face into Grandpa Rick’s chest, rubbing against him like a child—serves him right to get covered in snot and tears anyway. One quivering hand reached back to gently touch her bottom and self-diagnose. Her eyes widened at how hot her skin felt, and more to the point, how much just a gentle touch currently hurt. Hissing in pain, she pulled her hand back and scrubbed at her eyes with her fists, still crying.

“Oh (sniff) m-my gooood…” she groaned, and awkwardly tried to back away from the contraption she had just spent some quality time with. She looked at it in horror, still shocked that she had actually just been punished by it. How positively medieval. “I’m sorryyy—” Summer looked up, expecting at least someone else to be there, but was surrounded by the empty living room. She rubbed at her face, “E-everyone l-left?” At the realization that she had been abandoned, Summer burst into fresh tears and crumpled; she would have fallen to her knees had her grandfather not been holding her up. Somewhere inside her, Summer’s more logical self was embarrassed at her dramatic display, but the redhead was freshly spanked and nearly inconsolable as she busily filled her own head with the worst assumptions about her family’s absence.

"C-come on," Rick said, much softer than he'd spoken to her throughout her spanking. His slung one arm around her shoulders, positioned the other one behind her knees, and lifted his sobbing mess of a granddaughter up and into his arms. "I, I know you're sorry," he mumbles, jostling her to rest her head against his shoulder. He made his way towards the stairs, and - in an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness - placed an almost distracted kiss to her forehead. His lips were cracked, his chin wet with drool and whatever he'd been pouring inside himself, and his cheeks were scratchy, but it was more affection than he'd shown Summer in ages.

He carefully made his way up the stairs with Summer in his arms and brought her into her bedroom, where he put her down on her feet. "Lie down on your stomach," he instructed, but unlike before, there was no 'what else' as such present in his tone. He pulled up her desk chair and sat down next to the bed. "Y-you, you got a hard one for your first one, huh, Summer?" he said, rubbing her back with a calloused hand. "Y-you did all right, though."

Summer still cried, but quieter and softer as she finally began to calm down from the hysterics of the living room a few moments earlier. She hadn’t expected to be so tenderly carried up to her room, and then on top of it to be soothed by the same man who had so cruelly disciplined her, but she was too exhausted to question it.

“Y-yesss I did—“ she pushed her face into the pillow and sniffled before turning her head back toward Rick and breathing noisily through her stuffy, red nose, ”Really hard…” she pouted adorably, and reached back again to touch her bottom; a little groan escaping her lips as she felt the damage. “Oh my god—like, I-I won’t be able to like, sit for _months_ Grandpa Rick.”

The hand on her back felt good, and she wondered when he would leave her—not that she wanted him to leave. Really, he could stay there with her for forever as far as she was concerned. With one hand on her bottom, the other reached up to rub her face as she asked in a quiet voice, “Why did everyone leave? Does…everyone like, hate me that much?”

Rick continued rubbing Summer's back, resting his chin on his hand and surveying the damage he'd done. Her ass would heal (months? He had to work hard not to laugh at that) but it seemed there'd definitely been a psychological side effect to her punishment that he had not anticipated, or intended.

"Th-that's just crazy talk," he huffed, rolling his eyes. "If, if someone you hate is getting the, the living daylights - eeuughh - beaten out of 'em, wouldn't you stay a-and watch them suffer?" He smiled knowingly, his eyes dark for a moment. "I-I would." His hand trailed up to run absent-mindedly through Summer's red hair. "I mean, I, I can't speak for your family, but if I had to guess it's that they couldn't deal with seeing you cry." He scratched her scalp gently and grinned down at her. "Y-your parents are _huge pussies_ Summer, I'm sorry to say."

And Morty... well, Morty had wanted to stay by his sister's side, hadn't he? "Morty wanted to stay, anyway," he shrugged. "I-I kicked him out."

Summer felt a weight lift slightly from her shoulders. That made sense, but she shot daggers at Grandpa Rick with her eyes anyway for kicking Morty out. But then her gaze softened, "Morty--" 

Summer moved her arms to hug her pillow, smushing her cheek against it, staring blankly at the middle of her grandfather's chest. "I feel bad, st-still..." her voice was damp but relaxed, vulnerable in a way Summer didn't usually reveal, "I couldn't...believe how hard you spanked him, even though-" 

The redhead stopped mid sentence with her mouth hanging open as her brain sluggishly connected the events of the past week. As Rick usually called her, she was indeed "the smart Smith" and suddenly she began to realize how thoroughly she had been manipulated. Listening to her mom and Rick's private moment had been her original mistake, but really, she had been disrespecting him even before that. Grandpa Rick must've known she'd be curious...he started talking to Mom while her foot was still on the threshold of the room as she left. Had that been a test? And then the next morning had been test #2, but Morty had stepped in and was subsequently punished for shielding her. Summer slowly realized the entire time she tried to play her grandfather, he had not only known what she was doing but was also letting her get herself into more trouble. 

Her eyes darted up to the frosty blue eyes above her and Summer shivered as she looked at the old man with new respect. "Grandpa Rick, (sniff) don't worry, I won't try to be smarter than you again..." She wiggled her bottom back and forth slightly and winced, "I wooon't challenge you anym-more." 

A coy little sparkle gleamed in her still-wet eyes as she remarked, "all that manipulation to give me my punishment Grandpa Rick, and then _you_ don't even give it." A wistful look stole over her face as she thought of her mother, red-faced, gasping and bouncing over Grandpa Rick's knee, "(sniff) Your loss...or, or _mine_ I guess..."

Rick grinned down at his rueful granddaughter. It seemed he really had gotten through to her, and he was glad - this punishment hadn't been all that fun for him, either, and although he loved having a penitent, weeping mess over his lap, causing his loved ones serious psychological torment wasn't entirely his idea of a good time. "I-I'm sure you'll end up over my knee at some point, Summer," he half-threatened, half-teased her. "I'll be - eeuughh - honest with you, I, I look forward to it already..."

He put his hand on her sore bottom and rubbed gently, knowing that that would be enough to remind her of the time she'd spent strapped into his spanking machine. "Might be a while, though," he decided. "That machine really, it really let you have it." Although the redness at the edges of her cheeks was starting to fade into pink, the bruises where the paddle had hit her the hardest looked like they'd definitely make it hard for her to sit for at least a couple of days. No sleeping on her back for Summer, but if Rick had to be honest, her ass was better than her tits anyway.

With one final sharp tap to her ass, he stood up, grunting. "H-hey, I'm gonna get you a glass of water. Y-you want a snack?" He paused. "Y-you want me to get Morty in here so you can apologize to him?" He figured Morty wouldn't be requiring yet another apology, but it might be enough to finally soothe Summer's guilty conscience. She seemed to be the kind of person who wouldn't feel absolved of her sins, even after a spanking... in a way, she was quite similar to him in that regard.

Summer yawned and pushed her face into her pillow; her next few sentences slightly muffled, “In a bit…I, I think I want to take a nap…if that’s okay. I’ve never felt this exhausted in my life, Grandpa Rick.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Summer felt her eyelids get heavy and the last thing she saw was a quirked smile at the edges of her grandfather’s mouth as he quietly left her bedroom.


	4. Flowers in the Attic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Rick's ruling the family with an iron fist and a leather strap, Summer and Morty find comfort in each other's arms. They also find some other stuff - mostly orgasms.

Summer trudged through the front door and dropped her backpack on the floor of the living room, groaning as she rubbed her shoulders. Morty followed suit, but was a bit more principled and left his backpack on the couch. He flopped onto the couch and turned the TV on, only wincing slightly as his ass made contact with the cushion. It was one full week and one day since he’d been bent over in the kitchen dealing with a ferocious spanking from Rick, but he was healing pretty quickly (a benefit from semi-regular spankings). Summer on the other hand, was still walking awkwardly around and cringing every time she had to sit down anywhere. She glanced at her brother jealously as he sat on the couch and put her hand on the stair banister.

“I’m gonna head upstairs, Mort.”

Morty turned, “Oh, y-you don’t…wanna watch TV with me?”

Summer blushed, “It’s uh…not that…I think I’d just rather…um, like, lay on my stomach, you know?”

“Ohhh…” Morty lowered his eyes. He knew the feeling. Glancing up at his sister, he sympathetically smiled, “W-want me to c-come up with you, Summer?”

Summer paused, “I’m literally, like, literally just going to be lying on my stomach Morty. Grandpa Rick still has my phone.” She grimaced to herself, “I haven’t uh…had the guts to ask for it back yet.”

Morty nodded, “Yeah, Rick is…h-h-he’s a real hard ass sometimes, d-don’t take it personally Summer.” He stood up and walked over, “I’ll hang out with you anyway, c-c’mon, how often do we j-just uh…just chill, y’know?”

Shrugging, Summer led the way up the stairs, and to her room. She could hear the distant sounds of Jerry in the den watching TV, and the car was gone, so her mother was most likely grocery shopping. As for their grandfather, anyone’s guess as to where he was. The moment she entered her room, Summer unzipped her pants, kicked them off, and flopped face-first onto her bed.

“Summer!” Morty blushed and snapped his eyes shut.

“Ugh,” Summer turned her face to the side and rolled her eyes, “Morty, at this point, we’ve all seen each other half-naked, who cares?” She rolled over to make room for him on the bed, “It’s fine, bro.”

It took him a few moments, but Morty walked over and sat down on the bed beside his sister; his eyes lingering on her plump bottom still mottled by bruises. It was always a little jarring to see his sister or mother’s lingerie. He knew they had it and wore it, but somehow seeing family members in lace as opposed to models in commercials was strange. Good strange, of course…but still strange. Summer had her head down on the pillow, and her pink tank top rode up her back slightly, showing off deep back dimples right above the mound of big, thick, whooty. Morty chewed his lip as he stared. He was disgusting for staring, holy shit, what was wrong with him? And yet, his shaking hand still reached out tentatively and before he could stop himself, his palm softly brushed the largest of the fading bluish-purplish bruises.

“Are you—h-how are you healing?”

If Summer was weirded out by Morty’s touch, she didn’t indicate either way and responded with her face still pressed in her pillow. “Eh, okay I guess.” She turned her face to the side to look at him quizzically, “you?”

Morty shrugged, “I’m a-almost back to normal,” He chuckled, “which means Rick will-will probably catch me slipping up at some point. I d-d-don’t go un-spanked for very long…” His hand smoothed across his sister's ass, cupping the roundest part gently. Her skin was impossibly soft, and as he rubbed her still-sore bottom, he caught the faintest of sighs escape from her lips.

“Thaaat…f-feels good, Mort…”

Summer had spent most nights half-awake. She was unaccustomed to being spanked, and as a result, she kept rolling over on her back in the middle of the night, only to be jolted awake by the painful reminder of her time in Rick's spanking machine. Still, during those snatches in the middle of the night when the house was dark and quiet, and her ass throbbed with the slowly healing bruises, she had found herself contemplating one particular in scene in particular: her mother on her grandpa's lap, his fingers deep inside of her, and him mouthing at her clit with that terrible, lascivious grin on his face. When she'd witnessed it from the hallway the shock had made it all the more hot, but days after the fact it was the context of it - her mom and her grandpa! - that had her rubbing at her clit and moaning into her pillow.

It had been difficult enough to come to terms with the fact that she really did want to get the same treatment from Rick - lying over his lap, being spanked to tears, and then those fingers, and that tongue, and that raspy voice hissing filthy things in her ear. It had been even more difficult to accept that now she just kept picturing it, Rick and her mom, Rick and her, Rick and her dad, and Rick and Morty...

“Thaaat…f-feels good, Mort…” She arched her back, pushing up her ass towards her little brother's hand. It really did - it wasn't that rubbing it made the soreness go away; if anything, it exacerbated it. But now, days after the fact, that insistent burning and throbbing somehow managed to get her all hot and bothered. She'd come more than once with one hand on her ass and one hand fingering herself, trying to convince herself it was another person treating her so cruelly and so tenderly - or maybe even two other people...

She bit her lip and smirked. If she knew her brother a little bit, he'd be gawking at her all scandalized by now - but when she looked up at him, she found him staring at her with an entirely different look in his eyes. She felt her cheeks grow hot despite herself. "I mean, uh..."

Morty held his breath as his sister arched back and suddenly his gentle touch was increased to a full-on ass grab as she pushed herself into his hand. He rubbed firmer, massaging into the soft flesh the same way he knew he liked to feel hands rub against his own sore ass…he hoped it felt good for her.

When she turned to look at him, a look of mild surprise crossed her face, and Morty internally wondered if he had a pervy look on his face. He smiled encouragingly, and added his other hand to her other cheek, shifting slightly on the bed so he was closer to his sister.

“Y-yeah, I uh…I like getting uh…r-rubbed down too—it helps, right?”

His hands traveled up and down the large expanse of Summer’s butt, and Morty accidentally realized he was biting his bottom lip as he looked. He knew Summer had a fat ass, but this was the first time he’d ever really taken the time to admire it—and in cute panties too! His motions against her caused the fabric of her panties to ride up her crack slightly, but Morty made no move to fix it; instead he took advantage of more exposed skin to softly rub her more, the very tips of his fingers just dipping in against the cleft of her cheeks. It was quiet in Summer’s room, with only the distant sounds of television from the den drifting through the still air, and against the silence, Summer’s soft breathing rose up from the pillow and Morty felt his cock twitch insistently against his jeans. Fuck, was he really—

Morty curled one thumb slightly beneath the hem of one leg of her panties, tugging it barely a centimeter as his other hand continued to gently rub—a wordless question that he wasn’t sure what the answer would be.

Summer's breath hitched in her throat. She'd fantasized about this (well, not exactly this, of course) before, half-asleep and half-delirious, horny without the wherewithal to examine the depravity of her fantasies. Still she hadn't expected it to be like this, with Morty being so forward... somehow she'd thought that if anything were to happen, she would have to take her poor, dumb little brother by the hand and lead him.

Of course, Morty was much more experienced with the whole being-spanked-by-Rick thing than her. She should have taken that into account. In fact, while that spanking he'd received in the kitchen had looked heinous, she had to wonder if he'd ever received that spanked-first-oral-later treatment from her grandpa. It was hard to imagine, but so was her mom getting it on with her grandpa, and that had become reality as well.

"Mmmm," she smiled, her fingers digging into her pillow. She spread her legs just a little, enough to subtly hint at her approval, but also something she could deny in case she was reading Morty wrong. The image of Morty and her grandpa - Jesus, that was somehow even more terrible than her mom and grandpa Rick. Terrible, but then ever since Rick had taken matters in the Smith household in his own hands, terrible and delicious seemed to have started overlapping more and more. "Hey, Morty," she whispered, using the voice she usually reserved for audio messages to the cute boys in her class. "Tell me about... tell me about Rick spanking you."

Morty let his hand slide up and under Summer's panties and trailed against her bare flesh. He couldn’t believe what he had lucked into, but he was pretty determined to not screw it up. She shifted her legs slightly and her thighs parted. If he wasn't so nervous, Morty would've groaned deep in his throat because he could _smell_ her. Sweat from a long school day, thick and sour mixed with whatever cheap Victoria’s Secret brand body spray she was wearing these days, and her clearly damp pussy congealed midair into a musky, heavy scent that Morty, as quietly as he could manage, deeply inhaled.

Her question made a hot blush rise to his cheeks, and sliding his other hand beneath her panties, Morty boldly squeezed firmly with both hands before dragging his hands down the back of her thighs. If she didn't stop him for doing that then maybe...

"W-when Rick spanks me?" Morty felt his boner get harder. Goddammit, why was everyone in this stupid family so...so hot? "W-well...it happens kind of - kind of a lot I guess. I get spanked for messing up pretty much all the time, b-but nothing like what you saw in the kitchen." The boy shifted, remembering the painful punishment, "that w-was Rick being a hard-ass like I said...usually if I just make a simple mistake or-or-or something dumb, y'know, I'll get spanked over his knee, but with just his hand...a-and not as hard or long really..." Morty danced around the fact that a good many of his spankings he also asked for, uncertain of how Summer would handle that information.

"A lot, huh?" Summer said, biting her lip and slowly rubbing her hips against the mattress. She could just picture it - Rick and Morty somewhere on some distant planet, Morty dropping an important device or admitting to some mistake, only to be turned over Rick's knee immediately and spanked into a sobbing, begging mess. "So is it only if you mess up or is it... is it nice sometimes?" In that single nice she tried to pack everything she'd come to associate with Rick's spankings: the trepidation, the intimacy, the humiliation, the sexual undertone, the submission, the potential sexual overtones, the tenderness afterwards...

She spread her legs further still. "If you tell me about that you can take off my panties," she promised, wiggling her ass at her little brother enticingly. "But only then...!"

She both felt supremely vulnerable and entirely in charge. Morty recounting his spanking experiences with Rick got her wet, especially in that terrible stutter of his. But the fact that his hands were on her ass, and that at any given moment he could swat her, and there wouldn't be any way for her to see it coming or for her to do anything about it... god, that somehow got her even wetter.

Morty choked at the offer and his hands stilled on their slow journey up and down Summer's legs to grip hard, this short trimmed nails digging into her soft, chubby flesh. He looked behind himself at the closed door, and then back again at Summer: her bruised ass barely contained in panties that were suspiciously dark in the crotch, her back dimples, her wrinkled pink shirt, the long, strawberry red hair that poured down between her shoulder blades...

"W-well," Morty relaxed his grip and went back to rubbing, his hands reaching up to the top of her ass, as he hooked his thumbs in the fabric and slowly, slowly pulled them down, centimeter by excruciating centimeter. "It is sometimes nice..." Morty licked his dry lips, "y'know, Rrrrick's always in charge, j-just, in a general sense I guess, b-but you feel it more when you're over his knee getting the life paddled out of you." At the widest part of her ass, Morty paused and looked down, committing the sight to memory, "so it's kinda...kinda nice t-to let yourself turn off and let him be in, in charge of everything, including yourself. He always--I dunno how Summer--Rick always knows just how much to spank you w-without going over...and afterward, I don't know how, but-but-but somehow he turns into another person--he's still an asshole...but he's tender...and the way he touches you, just, d-decades of experience and shit, Rick has seen, and-and tasted, and tried everything Summer, really, and he still...gets this really hungry, happy look in-in his eye, and it just lasts for a few minutes, but it's the best fucking few minutes ever."

Morty had gone slow, but as he ended, he yanked her panties down to her feet, and took them off, pausing to bury his nose and mouth in the warm fabric before tossing them on the floor. "Sometimes Summer, I-I ask him to spank me..." Morty's hands returned to Summer's ass and he squeezed appreciatively, "s-ssometimes, I ask him to spank me hard on...on purpose."

Summer couldn’t keep herself from writhing on the bed as Morty tantalizingly slowly removed her panties and told her all about what it was like to find himself across Rick's knee. She hadn't had the experience herself yet, but the way Morty described it, she could vividly imagine it - and it sounded both terrifying and divine. Rick had told her she'd end up over his lap before long, and while that had seemed horrifying at the time, now it was a prospect she could enjoy, if slightly - like running your finger over a scab, disgusting and satisfying all at once.

"I-I can't believe you ask him to spank you," she gasped, one hand sneaking underneath her to end up at her crotch, her fingers teasing at her clit and entrance. "That's, like, such a slutty thing to do, Morty... honestly, I mean..." She was about to say _have some self-respect_ , but she couldn't really pretend to take the high road when she was attempting to seduce her little brother by goading him into telling her about his various spankings at their grandfather's hand. "When you're getting spanked, do you ever... like, get _hard?"_ she continued, spreading her pussy and lifting her hips to show him exactly what he was doing to her.

His hands on her ass were driving her wild - it felt painful and delicious all at once, as she imagined getting a non-punishment spanking from grandpa Rick might feel. "I think you do," she breathed heavily, before groaning as Morty's hands travelled over an especially sore spot. "I think it gets you hard as fuck, huh, Morty..."

Morty was fully hard right now, never mind Rick and theoretical past spankings. His mouth literally watered as Summer spread her pussy with two fingers for him to see her, wet, bright pink, and gleaming beneath the bedroom light. He grinned as the nickname 'firecrotch' crossed his mind as he eyed the dusting of red stubble against her skin. "Well, y-you saw mom didn't you?" Morty's hand dropped to his crotch to adjust himself and then returned his hands to Summer's legs, but instead of sitting beside her, he maneuvered so that he was behind her, between her legs. He slowly hunched forward over her back, one hand reaching up to brace against the headboard right above Summer's head. "J-jusss...s-something about Rick, I dunno..." Morty let his free hand squeeze Summer's ass again before it dipped lower, his middle and index finger brushing against her labia with a whisper of a touch. Morty dropped his voice as he spoke against Summer's hair. He hoped he didn't sound creepy, but it was strange to speak out loud about such perverted goings-on between family members. "R-rick can make me hard by j-just looking at me Summer, that's how easily he controls y-you once you get fucked by him..." Morty ruefully shook his head, "a-and don't even get me - get me started on what he's packing."

The hand between her legs rubbed up against her cunt again firmer, but still with a bit of hesitation, Morty almost didn't trust his own senses that this was really happening. His sister was hot as fuck; he'd never score a girl like this in real life and here she was, stretched out beneath him, rubbing up against him, half naked and soaked. He wondered if she would let him fuck her. He groaned at the thought and bent his head to rest his nose against Summer's shoulder, breathing her in, "God, Summer..."

Summer spread her legs even further, moaning wantonly under her little brother's surprisingly deft touch. Had he even been with girls before? There'd been that sex robot, but surely he hadn't learned this there... maybe she was just too horny to be too picky, but that didn't change the fact that her insides clenched, even throbbed at the feeling of just the tips of his fingers brushing against her. She squirmed, desperate for him to stick something inside her, anything...

"I-I can't believe grandpa Rick fucked you," she moaned. Now that Morty was hovering over her, it was all too easy to arch her ass up and gyrate against his crotch. He was clearly hard already, and Summer suggestively rubbed her ample ass against his dick. "I can't believe how hot that is," she continued, her eyes drifting shut so she could fully appreciate the idea of Morty underneath their grandpa, legs spread, begging for mercy. "G-god, Morty - it's, it's really hot... keep talking and I'll, I'll let you touch my boobs, okay?"

Morty slipped his fingers down further and rubbed the pads of his fingertips against the top of her clit, moving as gently as he could. Sweat pooled on the back of his neck, and at her request, he dorkily stuttered, "R-re-really??"

Catching himself, he chuckled at his own over-eagerness and separated his fingers slightly, squeezing the tip of her clitoris between the sides of his fingers. "S-sometimes, oh god...m-my favorite is-is getting belted, Summer..." Morty breathed against her, his voice low against her ear, as if he spoke any louder the man himself would somehow hear them, "When Rick t-takes off his belt and I hear the buckle clink, I feel like-like I'm about-bout to bust right then..." Morty moved his fingers back and teased her folds, slipping his fingers back and forth against the slick skin, "it burrrns so good...Rick, he-he usually makes me l-lay over a pillow on a bed..s-sometimes he even ties my hands together so I can't re-reach back and he'll just--he's like a monster or an animal or somethin, Summer, he j-just gets so savage, and when you get hit by a belt it sort of spreads beneath your skin, the heat, I mean....so by the end I'm hard, and completely sweaty and sore." 

Morty paused and slowly inched his finger inside her, extending the other to rub against her clit as he slowly scissored his hand against her. "Then...I mean, i-it depends if I was...if I was a good boy or not," Morty cringed at saying the phrase aloud, but figured it gave authenticity, "h-he'll let me suck him off, or...or he'll eat me out before fucking me...god, Summer, his tongue is a lot stronger th-than you'd expect, y'know?" Morty pressed his mouth against her shoulder in a chaste kiss as he pressed his hand deeper and rubbed her a little faster, "When Rick is inside you, y-you feel like you're the most important person in the fucking universe."

Summer was gasping and moaning, as much at her brother's gentle ministrations as at the stories he told her. The image of grandpa Rick looming over her, eyes dark, a belt snapping in his hand... the idea of grandpa Rick telling her to get on her knees and suck his cock... the possibility of Rick eating her out, slipping that apparently powerful tongue inside her, her pussy, her ass... it was insane. What she'd seen transpire between her mom and Rick had been hot as hell and depraved, but what went on between Morty and Rick was evidently even more filthy - and it looked like it had been going on for a long time, which meant that all those nights where the two of them were tinkering away at something in the garage, they might have just been getting up to all sorts of depravity, and she hadn't even known about it.

"J-jesus, Morty," she groaned into the pillow, barely able to contain herself. "I-I can't believe this... that's, I mean. _Jesus..."_ She tried to sound judgmental, but it was difficult to be anything but jealous of Morty. When Rick is inside you... oh god. With Morty's stammering voice in her ear and those fingers inside her, she could almost imagine Rick hovering over her and finger fucking her instead.

Before she knew it, she'd pushed herself up on all fours, pressing her back flush against Morty's stomach. "Stop teasing," she hissed, looking over her shoulder to give Morty a look that made her intentions and desires abundantly clear. "I, I know you're, like, totally hard for me - so just _do it already."_ Her tone, which was meant to be assertive and demanding, had more than a little bit of desperation in it.

"Jeez, Summer--" Morty removed his fingers and brought them to his mouth, tasting her out of curiosity. He'd already lost his virginity to an alien, but as many beautiful, exotic, humanoid aliens he'd seen, there was something about regular human girls. Summer tasted slightly bitter, and completely unique, Morty licked them clean before spitting on his first three fingers and grouping them together. "I uh...inherited more than my stutter from Rick--" without warning, Morty pressed his fingers into her vagina, squeezing them in even as Summer squirmed at the tight fit. Her clenching muscles around his fingers made the teen harder as he drew them out slightly and then thrust back in, stretching her out, "Y-yeahhh, damn Summer--" Morty chuckled, "y-you're really tight--"

He withdrew his fingers and unzipped the front of his jeans, pushing them down with his sticky hand as his other left the headboard and tangled itself in Summer's hair. He didn't pull, but the threat was there. Morty's cock flopped out and as he angled himself behind Summer he hesitated one last time before pressing the tip against her and groaning at the heat, "G-goddammit, Ssssum-summer--" he slid in, pushing firmly, squeezing his eyes shut as his sister moaned and ground up against him. She was tight around his dick, and hot, and Morty could feel residual wetness run against his sack when he was fully inside her. He leaned over again and buried his mouth against her neck, nipping her skin with his teeth gently before kneeling up, pulling out, and thrusting in again, groaning loudly as the sensation. Her bruised, fat ass bounced against his lower abdomen as he fucked her--it was mesmerizing. He couldn't help it, as he thrust in and out of Summer he brought his hand back and sharply smacked her jiggling ass, "I bet - bet y-you're thinking about Rick, huh Summer?" The hand squeezed into her ass roughly and Morty tugged on her hair slightly, just enough to remind her of what he could do. "Rick is--mmmm - Rick is w-wayyy rougher," Morty breathed heavily-God, Summer was making the hottest little noises, "Rick is brutal." Morty said it forcefully, longingly, making brutal sound beautiful as he fucked his sister and they both daydreamed of their grandfather.

Summer could barely believe that this was her little brother fucking her. Of course there was the general surrealness of siblings fucking each other, but Morty's behavior was somehow even more bizarre than that. Was this really her stammering, pathetic little brother? She knew that going on adventures with Rick had made him grow up quickly, and she knew he'd seen things she could only imagine - but still, she could never have imagined he'd be like this during sex, and the shock of it made the whole degenerate situation even hotter.

So consumed with her brother's thick cock (Jesus, he hadn't been kidding about that) inside her was Summer, that for a brief moment she entirely forgot about Rick. Of course, when Morty mentioned his name, and then pulled her hair and (oh god!) even spanked her, it was all she could do to clench around him, yelp, and snake one hand down her stomach to start rubbing at her clit insistently. It was difficult to support herself on only one hand, but Morty's hand tangled in her hair forced her to stay upright and balanced.

Way rougher? Summer had a hard time imagining that. "Jesus, Morty," she panted, desperately rubbing herself as Morty thrust into her again, and again, and again. "O-oh, oh my goddd, how... how... oh fuck!" She could practically feel his handprint burning on her abused ass, and the sweet agony of it had her arching her back like a cat in heat. "Spank me again," she commanded, in the voice she usually used to tell him to get out of her room, or to shut up, or to leave her alone. It was only after the words had left her mouth that she realized she wasn't dealing with the annoying little brother she'd thought she had - this seemed to be a different creature altogether, and it might be wise to alter her approach accordingly. "Please!" she added, her legs trembling underneath her.

Behind them, the door creaked open.

"Who's--who's a-asking for spankings now, huh Summer?"

But for all his bravado, Morty was busy thinking about math and long division to distract him from cumming too early. He released Summer's hair and wrapped both hands around her hips using leverage to slam himself harder and deeper into her. He obliged her request, smacking her ass again, watching with relish a pale pink handprint puff up on top of her copious bruising. He smacked her a second time on the opposite side and grunted as she clenched tightly around him in response. The sheer lewdness of the situation, and the fact that his older sister was soaked, and hot, and tight as a virgin, Morty felt a surge of jealousy suddenly at the thought of other boys in high school getting a piece. 

"God, Summer--" Morty huffed hard, digging his fingers into her soft flesh, and in a moment of incredulity as his luck, he admitted, "y-you're so f-f-fucking sexy, fuck--"

He was pouring sweat from his forehead, the brown curls slicked against his forehead and the nape of his neck as he put his utmost effort into drilling his sister as best he could - and god, he hoped he was doing well. Anxiety aside, Morty was thoroughly enjoying himself and let himself tip his head back and groan Summer's name to the ceiling as his balls smacked into her slit and her ass bounced off his pelvis. 

"T-tell me--" Morty grunted with effort, about to bust, but desperate to hold on a few moments longer to have this depraved, perfect moment a little longer, "tell me h-how much y-y-you like your l-little brother's cock s-ssstuffed inside you," Morty grinned, and leaned over her, teasing her as if they were in the car driving somewhere instead of sloppily fucking each other in her twin size bed. "Y-you called me a s-slut, b-but-but it takes one t-to know one Summer--"

Summer collapsed the moment Morty let go of her air, allowing him to fuck her face into the pillow. Face down, ass up, huh - the song played through her mind and she would have laughed, but this did not feel like the kind of sex where you could laugh; it was too fast, and hot, and intense. There was nothing funny about it, and she would've been scared of this new and unexpected side of Morty if he hadn't been fucking her so good.

She knew that, rationally, she was out of his league. Boys like Morty did not get to fuck girls like her. How lucky he was that he had something going for her beyond his mediocre looks and lack of popularity: they shared something, something she would never share with anyone, and wasn't it insane that Rick of all people would be the link to bring them this close together?

Every time Morty spanked her the pain and humiliation of being strapped in the machine fired up her brain, and she couldn't help but clench down on the thick cock inside her, pain and pleasure mixing deliciously, deliriously. "Morty!" Summer almost choked on his name, and found herself unable to whisper any sweet nothings, too distracted by her rapidly approaching orgasm and the snatches of images in her mind: all images of Rick, and Rick and Morty, and Rick and her mom, but most terribly of all of just Rick, just Rick, just Rick...

"Y-yeah, Summer," came a dry voice from the doorway. "I-it takes one to know one..." And there, leaning against the frame, arms nonchalantly folded, stood Rick.

Morty pulled out and fell backward in his shock at hearing Rick's deep, gravelly voice behind him. In his hurry to pull his jeans back up he wiggled right off of the bed in a heap, dick still fully erect and hanging out of his pants as he lay crumpled on the floor, rubbing his head.

"R-rrrick, uhh, its-its-its--" not what it looks like? Morty's brain raced to come up with an excuse for being balls - deep inside his sister but had nothing. Really, what excuse could he possibly give? But he scrambled to his feet anyway, finally managing to wrangle his manhood back into his boxers and jeans as he sheepishly shifted back and forth on his heels. On top of every other humiliating detail, his arousal hasn't diminished in the least, and the front of his jeans tented forward embarrassingly. 

Seeing Rick made both his cock twitch and his bottom throb. Morty wasn't sure how much trouble they were in, but even though it hadn't been explicitly said, he was positive fucking Summer was against the rules. Still, Morty glanced to the side quickly where Summer was trying to collect herself and the teen grinned quickly, _worth it_ before becoming serious again as he looked back at Rick. "H-how much d-d-did y-you see?"

Summer dove under the covers, peeking over just enough to show that she'd gone deathly pale. "Grandpa Rick!" she squeaked, half-panicked, half-indignantly. She was about to suggest he might want to knock next time when she realized that she was not in the position to be judging others, and that Rick would probably tan their hide already, without her talking back to him. "I'm sorry," she added, in what she hoped was suitably contrite tone. She glanced at Morty, who had to suffer the added humiliation of facing their grandfather with a barely-concealed hard-on. At least her sopping wet pussy was hidden from view.

"I-I saw enough," Rick shrugged, sounding supremely nonchalant about the entire situation. "Pretty - eeuughh - pretty fucked up situation y-you've got going on here, don't you think?"

Summer just stared back, mouth open. She tried to think of extenuating circumstances, but knew there was no excusing fucking your own little brother. "Yeah," she admitted quietly.

"I-I mean, spanking is... it's supposed to be a punishment, kids," Rick said, examining his nails, his face devoid of any emotion. "A-and here you are, turning it into a, a fetish."

Summer looked at Morty. What the hell?

"M-maybe you're just doing it wrong," Rick continued, and here he turned to his grandchildren, a sly grin spreading on his face. "Maybe y-you need a lesson... huh, Morty?"

Morty felt his already hot face flush harder and still, his boner persistently throbbed between his legs. 

"I-I-I-I--" He stammered, and shielded his crotch, his trembling legs tensing with the desire to run. Although Morty had been spanked the most and for the longest out of anyone in the family, it didn't mean he always went willingly. While it always meant more severe consequences, sometimes he tried to escape anyway...he had to at least try.

Now was not one of those times. Rick was blocking the only exit, and the way he was grinning, the anxious teen knew his genius, devious grandfather had something planned. Morty lowered his eyes, still unsure of how to answer Rick--but running out of time, he quietly apologized, "s-sorry, I uh--I d-didn't mean to...ah jeez, f-fetishize i-it, Rick--"

Rick did not leave the doorway. He looked at Summer and quirked an eyebrow. "I-I already knew what a little pervert Morty is, but this is... this is a surprise, Summer," he said. "Aren't you a bit too - eughh - too pretty to be getting up to nasty shit like this?" He snapped his fingers at her. "C'mon, get out of bed. Y-you've been caught, deal with it like a big girl."

Reluctantly, Summer slid out of the bed. Naked from the waist down, and with her tank top bunched up to expose her perky tits, she felt humiliatingly exposed. Besides, her pale skin still had that just-got-fucked flush, and her inner thighs felt wet and sticky. Still, she supposed Rick was right, and she made no move to cover herself with her hands, keeping her arms at her sides, fists clenched. Morty's stories about how fucking great and hot it was to be spanked by grandpa Rick suddenly seemed unbelievable. There was no way she'd volunteer to lie down over that knee.

"A-anyway," he sighed theatrically. "A lesson i-it is, huh? Morty, sit, sit down on the bed."

Morty hastened to obey, after all, with his bottom in a seat, that meant it was not turned over someone's lap. He winced at Rick's 'pretty' comment and hoped Summer had taken it to heart when he told her not to take the shit Rick says personally. Safely parked back on the mattress, Morty was afforded the view of Summer's naked ass as she stood before Rick tight fists hanging rigidly at her sides.

Realizing he was staring, Morty shook himself and then looked across the room at Rick, who clearly seemed to be enjoying the situation.

"O-okay," Rick said. "Now, s-since it seems the two of you are, are so intent on spanking each other and getting spanked, I'll, I'll talk you through it so you can do it properly."

There was no way Rick would fess up that he'd been listening to his grandchildren going at it even before he opened the door. He'd heard some quite nice things about himself, and figured that if he got to get off on spankings, it was only courteous to afford his victims the same privilege. Of course, he knew Morty's feelings on the matter - but that Summer had been corrupted so quickly, even with her only spanking having been such a terrible one, that was a surprise. And that they'd sought each other out to indulge these sick little fantasies - well, who was he to judge? He was no stranger to meeting up with other Ricks, and when you thought about it, that was even worse.

"Now Morty," he instructed, lazily waving his hand like a teacher who has been giving the same lectures for decades, "y-you tell Summer to walk over to you, a-and you explain what she did wrong. I-I'm sure I don-, eeughh - don't have to give you a script, y-you've been in her position often enough."

Summer blanched. What the hell? "Grandpa Rick!" she protested, but Rick seemed to be ignoring her entirely. She whipped around to look at Morty, mortified, and more than a little angry.

"Oh my god,"

Morty was well and truly trapped. Either Summer was going to be pissed, or Rick was going to be pissed, and frankly, everyone in the room understood that Morty really had no choice. His chest tightened; he'd be lying if he said he was never curious about being on the other side of a spanking, and Summer was gorgeous, what an amazing first ass to spank. Still, Morty felt bad that he was about to spank Summer on top of bruises, and he could only guess at the level of humiliation she was feeling right now. But with Rick, it was always better to just go along with it, and save yourself his wrath.

"C-c'mon Summer," Morty extended his hand, giving her an apologetic look as if to convey he really didn't want to do this, "p-please come here-" Morty figured he could smack her lightly, and if she played along and acted hurt, they could get off easy.

"Please come here," Rick imitated his grandson mockingly, before scoffing. "Is that how I talk to you when you're about to get spanked, Morty? No. Either y-you do this right or I'll be the one to teach the both of you a lesson."

Summer looked at her brother, fury now rising up inside her. It was clear that if Morty played his cards right, he'd be getting off scot-free. She, however, was definitely getting her ass beaten - either by her little brother, or by her grandfather, who she now knew was capable of truly impressive feats of humiliation and agony. She trembled where she stood, not sure whether she wanted to sock her little brother in the face or just make a run for it.

How dare he make her take a spanking for him? The thought had formed itself in all its indignant glory before she realized the irony of it, remembering again her sobbing, broken brother in the kitchen, his ass a mottled mess of red, white, and purple. Goddammit.

Morty flinched, but then glared at Rick, "Jeez, Rick, y-y'know, may-maybe I've got a different d-disciplinary style than y-you, huh?" But he acquiesced, and turned again to Summer, firmer, "Summer, I want y-you to come stand beside me," he hesitated, "now!" 

Morty rolled his eyes internally, god, he sounded so unconvincing. He could see Summer's fist shake at her hip, and he prayed that she didn't hit him, because then he'd be dealing with a black eye and paddled bottom, not to mention the whupping she'd get from Rick for behaving so brazenly. Morty pleaded with his eyes, if only Summer would just shut up and cooperate for one minute, it wouldn't get worse. But Morty knew his sister, and his ass clenched as he hoped she wouldn't challenge Rick. Morty licked his dry lips, "Y-you don't want me t-t-to have to c-come get you." He couldn't back up that threat, but whatever, Rick wanted him to imitate that style right?

Summer slowly walked over to her brother, tugging down her tank top to at least recover part of her dignity. She stood beside her brother, trying very hard not to grumble or argue. In a way, maybe she deserved this - Morty had ended up with a spanking on her behalf, so now she could finally repay the favor. Plus, he was bound to spank less hard than Grandpa Rick, right?

Rick's expression, meanwhile, could only be described as barely contained glee. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Not only did it always spark a certain kind of pride in him to see Morty try to emulate him, but Summer was clearly going through some pretty intense emotional turmoil. He didn't really want to punish his grandchildren just for getting up to nasty shit with each other, and this seemed like a good compromise between beating both their asses red and just letting things slide.

"L-looking good, Morty," he praised his grandson. "Tha-, eeughh, that's it. Only one solution for a naughty girl."

Morty smiled at her encouragingly and with one hand on the small of her back and the other gently gripping her forearm, he guided her over his lap. Scooting back slightly so that his sister could stretch and lay out on the bed, her bottom pushed up over his thighs, her face beside her pillow. Morty tried to make sure she was comfortable; he felt bad that Summer kept hearing about Rick Sanchez spankings without ever actually experiencing them. 

"Okay S-ssummer, uh--" Morty sputtered, how could he scold her for something he was doing with her? "Uhh, ha-having uhh--s-sex w-witha-with--ahhh....a sibling, uhh, me... umm." Morty couldn't form the words and froze, one hand holding her by her hips and the other resting on her thighs, "uhhh- Summer, y-you shouldn't have d-done that." he finished pathetically.

Summer had decided she'd submit to this and save Morty a spanking of his own, but she couldn't let that fly by. "Yeah?" she sneered, arms crossed, with her head resting on it. "If you hadn't tripped onto my bed dick-first, maybe it wouldn't have happened."

She turned to cast a withering look at grandpa Rick, but Rick seemed too amused to mind. "G-great lecturing, Morty," he snorted. "Y-you, uh, you're really letting her have it. Well, it's, it's not the most important thing anyway, huh..."

He took a moment to admire Summer's ass. His handiwork (or handiwork-by-proxy, he supposed) was still quite visible, and he had to admit that it was a good look on her. Almost a shame to fuck it up with what was probably going to be a mediocre spanking. Like spraying a graffiti tag over a Gustav Klimt painting.

Morty's ears burned at the combined teasing and he frowned, "okay, w-well, I'm going to spank you now, and y-you think about what you did." 

He paused, what an ironic request, but went along with it--Summer deserved to get off on a spanking. Maybe if she thought about getting fucked she'd get turned on and it'd hurt less. Morty drew her closer with his hand on her hip, and rested his other hand on her bottom for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes snapped up to stare at Rick and Morty suddenly grinned. Rick was a fool for giving this up a second time; Summer had the most incredible ass. He raised his hand and swatted firmly, but not terribly hard. Watching with relish the impact ripple across her flesh. He swatted again, and again, aiming and the bottom curve of her cheeks, light but stinging swats that barely pinkened her skin.

Summer gasped. Her ass hurt, definitely - but the way Morty was spanking her brought to mind images of her mother and grandpa Rick, and the soreness wasn't too overwhelming. In fact, she noticed with a confusing mix of dismay and relief, she still seemed quite wet, and when she tentatively rubbed her thighs together she could barely suppress a gasp. Oh god... if this whole spanking was a pretend-punishment, grandpa Rick would probably leave as soon as they were done, right? Maybe she could have Morty make it up to her a little bit. She could think of some methods.

Her writhing, subtle though it may have been, did not go unnoticed by Rick, and he tsked. Finally leaving the doorway, he walked over to Summer's desk, and picked up a ruler she'd been using for her trigonometry homework. "Sh-she's having a great time, Morty," he sighed. "I, I know you're both little... little deviants, but it's supposed to hurt." He made his way to his two grandchildren, and handed Morty the ruler. "C'mon, step it, step it up, Morty." He quirked an eyebrow. "Or do you want a demonstration of y-your own?"

Morty was positive his boner was poking up into Summer and he felt her wriggle and clench over his lap. When Rick stalked inside and brandished a ruler at him, Morty sighed in defeat, and rested his hand against Summer's warm skin, "Rick, I-I c-can’t, jeez... sh-she's still really sore, c-c'mon, Rick," Morty rubbed his hand over Summer comfortingly, "I c-can’t do it, I'm sorry Rick." Morty steeled himself for the consequences. But he couldn't spank Summer hard, he didn't have it in him, and anyway, she was still bruised! But maybe Rick would be merciful.

Rick held out the ruler for a moment longer, squinting at his grandson. He knew Morty was a wet blanket with a fucked up moral compass, but he wondered if Morty was really picking this particular hill to die on. When Morty didn't flinch under his piercing gaze, he grinned, and dropped the ruler on the floor. "W-worth a try," he shrugged. "Y-you're a pussy, Morty."

He took a step forward to slap Summer's ass - too hard to be playful, as evidenced by Summer's pained yelp. "Guess y-you're still gonna owe your brother one," he said, and turned on his heel, and left.

"Wh-what the hell was that?!" Summer panted, scrambling off of her brother's lap. She still couldn't believe he'd been willing to risk his own ass (literally and figuratively) for her, and she felt even worse about letting him take the blame that morning in the kitchen. "Oh god, I thought we were, like, dead," she said incredulously, before impulsively leaning forward and hugging Morty to her chest. "That was so stupid!" she seethed, ruffling his hair. "What the hell were you thinking?! I mean, Jesus, Morty!"

Morty pushed his sister off, ducking out of her hug, breathing heavy and still sweating. He was still insanely surprised Rick had let him off so easy. Although now that Rick’s threatening presence wasn’t around anymore, Morty found himself slightly regretting not taking advantage of the situation he had found himself in, if for no other reason that it wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. Summer definitely got off easy, and frankly, Morty was wondering where Rick had scampered off to; but presently, he still had a raging hard-on and his half-naked sister clinging to him.

“I f-felt bad Summer, y-you’re still-y’know, still sore—” Morty grabbed his crotch and adjusted himself, “but if you want to make it up to me, y-you could, y-y-y’know…” He looked meaningfully down at his jeans where his fly pushed forward from his boner beneath. He unzipped and pulled his cock out, still sticky from being inside Summer and jerked himself slowly as he looked at his sister.

"Uh..." Summer sat on the bed, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she'd been fucking her brother, then getting spanked by her brother at her grandfather's behest, then painfully close to getting her ass destroyed, and then (somehow!) saved. She looked at her little brother, who was just full of surprises today. Not only had he put his ass on the line for her after it had ended so miserably for him last time, but now here was giving her a look that reminded her oddly of her grandfather.

It was - well, she didn't want to think irresistible, because Morty was definitely not worth such high praise. But there was something commandeering about the way he looked down at that thick, hard cock, and she smiled a slightly confused smile. Maybe Morty did deserve a treat... and maybe he was the closest she was getting to Rick for a while.

She slid off of the bed and crawled over to where her brother stood. Still on her knees, she put her hands on Morty's hips and looked up at him, quirking an eyebrow. "That was a pretty noble thing you just did, Morty," she said, seductively biting her lower lip. "I guess you're turning into, like, a real gentleman, huh?" If her tone didn't make it clear enough, the fact that she immediately took her the head of her brother's cock into her mouth made it obvious: not only was she profoundly grateful, but she was more than a little fond of this reforged version of her little brother.

It took massive willpower not to immediately orgasm the second his cockhead entered Summer’s mouth. She didn’t flinch at his request, or the fact that his dick was currently covered in, well her, and the seductive way she was looking up at him beneath her strawberry lashes made the teenager comb his fingers through his hair as he stared down at the activity on his crotch. He didn’t think Summer would be so willing, not to mention the enthusiastic way she was sucking him off—he clearly would have to make a habit of hanging out in her room more often although; maybe next time stick a chair beneath the door handle so even if Rick picked the lock he wouldn’t get in.

“Heh, I-I-I d-dunno about, a-about a ‘gentleman,’ I’m probably—probably turning more into Rick if anything.” One hand drifted to the top of Summer’s head where he smoothed her hair away from her forehead affectionately, biting his lip as he watched in rapture, “F-fuck, Summer, Rick is—f-fucking stupid for giving up a chance to h-have you over his knee, t-twice now…”

Morty blushed as he said this, realizing the subtle complimentary angle of his statement. It wouldn’t be good if Summer knew he was too into this, as she’d undoubtedly use his constant horniness to her advantage now. He already had a massive crush on one family member, it wouldn’t be good to increase that to two. The familiar surge of heat shot through his stomach and the hand in Summer’s hair gripped harder as Morty panted above his sister, “I’m hhahhh—I’m close, d-d-do you w-want me to—“ Morty glanced around for a towel or a tissue box he could bust into; he doubted Summer wanted to swallow her little brother’s spunk.

Summer found the idea of her brother turning into more and more of a Rick strangely appealing, and showed her appreciation of the idea by taking him as far into her mouth as she could. She couldn't deep-throat him - not from this angle, and she definitely didn't have that much practice, but she wrapped her hand around the part of the shaft she couldn't fit in her mouth, her pink fingernails somehow complimenting her brother's pale skin perfectly.

She hummed around his cock, looking up and winking. She loved seeing that look on someone's face - it gave her a feeling of power to know she could reduce someone to such a primal state of want, and on her little brother it managed to look hot and endearing all at once. Plus, she agreed - Rick seemed to have something against her while having no qualms about fucking her brother and her mom. Well, whatever. His loss. Maybe when her ass had properly healed she'd have to seek out Morty instead...

She winced a little as he pulled at her hair, surprised (and a little smug) that he was this fast. Then again, he was a teenager, and they had been going at it for quite a while before Rick poked his nose where it really didn't belong. She pulled back, and - in a move that surprised even herself - opened her mouth and stuck out her chin. The invitation was clear.

"Fffu-fuuuck--"

Morty gasped and came hard, jizz spurting out with a rush, most of it hitting Summer in the chin and mouth, the rest dripping down, stringy and sticky, connecting the siblings with a thin white trail until Morty leaned down with two fingers and wiped it away. He staggered back, leaned against the wall and slid down into a slouching position, holding his cock still dribbling cum in his hand as he stared at his sister with a mixture of shock and surprised delight. 

"I'd-I'd ask if y-you've done that before b-but I don't wanna get jealous, heh--"

Morty wiped the rest of the jizz on his boxers and yanked them up, zipping his jeans in quick fashion as he sheepishly smiled at Summer, "w-w-well besides b-being uh...interrupted...that was - that was pretty awesome..." He shyly moved toward the door, "I'll uh...l-let you clean up--"

After making his excuses, Morty slipped from the door, his heart pounding in his head as he breathed. Holy shit that has been an intense orgasm...hopefully Summer would be down to try that again sometime.


	5. Conundrum of Electra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick wanders into Beth and Jerry's bedroom after curfew: drunk, disorderly and demanding. It's two vs. one, but we all know who really has the advantage.

A few days later, in the middle of the night--

 

The house was absolutely silent. Since Rick had crowned himself ruler of the Smith household, everyone had a curfew - and everyone made absolutely certain to follow that curfew to the letter. Jerry had briefly entertained the idea of testing Rick on this ridiculous bedtime mandate, but even now that his ass was fully healed, he still felt the psychological effects of his first and only spanking at Rick's hand keenly.   
  
Still, lying in bed didn't mean he had to sleep. Rick couldn't police that, could he? His days were still so long and empty under his unemployment that he succumbed to frequent daytime naps just to pass the time. Of course at night he paid the price for those brief moments of unconsciousness during the day.   
  
He didn't mind all that much, if he was honest. He knew it was creepy as hell but he loved watching Beth sleep. She looked so sweet and lovely when she slept; none of that resting bitch face she had during the day, none of the frowns she frequently threw his way, none of the mocking sneers. Now that she looked like she had in high school, she looked even softer, in a way that was both touchable and strangely ethereal.   
  
Jerry could hear stumbling in the hallway, and his heart jumped. Was one of his kids really stupid enough to mess around in the middle of the night? Didn't they know what Rick was capable of yet? He scooted a little closer to his sleeping wife, although he knew that if it came down to it, Beth could (and would) offer him no protection.   
  
The door slammed open, and, backlit by the light in the corridor, stood a gently swaying, clearly drunk Rick. A bottle dangled precariously from his hand, and his face was shrouded in darkness. "Wake up," he growled in a raspy voice.   


Beth was roused from sleep first by the movement of a frantic Jerry scooting close to her and clinging to her. She sleepily turned over, about to tell him to give her more space in the bed when their door crashed open and the stench of alcohol preceded her father’s terse command. Beth had been groggy, but her mind snapped to attention when she saw the swaying form in the threshold. Dad’s new status as head of the household had made him woefully unpredictable, even more than usual, and to compensate, Beth was a lot sharper than she normally was.   
  
“Dad?”   
  
Beth sat up in bed, allowing Jerry to cling to her (it was nerve wracking facing her father alone) and leaning against the headboard, she pulled the blanket up to her collarbones modestly. She was wearing a red, lacy nightie and while it wasn’t that scandalous, being awoken in the middle of the night underdressed and unprepared made a girl shy! Beside her, Jerry seemed oddly energetic, and she wondered to herself if he had even been sleeping before Dad barged in or if he just happened to wake up faster than she did. Bedtimes were pretty early these days, but Beth found that as embarrassing and humiliating as it was to be sent to bed with a curfew, she was more alert during the day, and it had actually improved her daily productivity to go to bed so early. She seemed to be alone in this benefit however, as Jerry seemed unchanged and the kids both seemed to be the same amount of tired even though they were now sent to their rooms hours earlier than they had been before.   
  
Beth blinked her eyes and with a yawn, pushed some curly blond hair off her forehead as she squinted and tried to focus her tired gaze at her father.   
  
“Is…everything okay, Dad?”   


Rick took a lurching step forward, and - with an unsteady hand - attempted to put the bottle down on the dresser. Uncoordinated as he was, the bottle immediately tipped over and spilled its remaining contents on the floor. It wasn't much; evidently Rick had downed most of it.   
  
Although he was standing right next to the light switch, he made no move to turn on the light, instead shambling towards the foot of the bed with uneven, unsteady steps. "Hey," he said, but it sounded more like an admonishment than a greeting - the kind of hey one might use when talking to an errant child.   
  
Jerry, meanwhile, clung to his wife for dear life. His eyes, wide and panicked, were trained on his drunk father-in-law, and he found that not being able to see Rick's facial expression made everything all the more terrifying - was he angry? Was he just being belligerent? Had either one of them done anything wrong? Was he just drunk, or confused? Could he be looking for Morty? He finally reached over to turn on his bedside lamp, and what he saw was not necessarily a comfort.   
  
Rick looked haggard, which was not unusual - but his eyes were more unfocused, and his mouth hung open in a way that betrayed just how much he'd had to drink. Only Rick could make slack-jawed inebriation look condescending, and his nose wrinkled as he attempted to focus his gaze on Jerry. "F-fuck off, Jerry," he managed, before unabashedly reaching down to adjust his dick.   
  
Jerry couldn't help but follow Rick's hand, and realized that Rick was hard. "What..." he began, but his question died in his throat. Rick had certainly put the fear of God in him, and he was not about to question his father-in-law - especially not in this state. Where Rick was a dangerous man all the time, he could usually be expected to be at least slightly reasonable. This version of Rick, however, looked as if reason had abandoned him altogether.   
  
Rick turned his head to look at his daughter, squinting and sucking on his teeth. "H-heyyy," he drawled, falling forward and just catching himself, now leaning on the foot of the bed. "Hey, Beth... y-you - y-y-you - eeuuughhh - y-you want your, your old man to be happy, right?"   


Beth chewed her lip. What a loaded question. Normally the answer would be yes, but late at night, with him drunk and her half-naked in bed it was definitely not normal.   
  
"Dad, of course I want you to be happy--"   
  
Beth fumbled with her bedside table until she also flipped on the tiny reading light she kept close by. The room was now bathed in dim, warm, amber light that only barely illuminated everyone's faces. Beth squeezed the covers tighter in her hands, her mind flashing back to her father's fingers and tongue sliding up against her cunt. She still hadn't said a word of what happened to Jerry, how could she? And suddenly Beth was concerned that her dad was about to demonstrate in front of her husband just how thoroughly he controlled her. No.   
  
Beth disentangled herself from her husband beside her, and dragged one of the blankets with her as she slid partially out of bed. Still clutching the sheet to her chest, trying and failing to cover her lacy pajamas as she pushed some blond hair out of her face,   
  
"Dad, are you sure you're okay?" She was now seated on the edge of the bed, one shapely leg sticking out of the covers and braced against the floor, "it's really late." She secretly hoped he'd be reminded of the curfew he insisted on enforcing and perhaps make another attempt at...whatever he was about to do the next day when Jerry wasn't around.   
  
Rick belched, but at least had the courtesy to do it away from his daughter, insteading sending a wave of sour breath in Jerry's direction. He turned back to Beth, chin wet and shining with drool, liquor, and who-knew-what-else, and grinned a slightly manic grin. "Y-you're so, so worried about your... your - eeuuughh - dad, huh...?" He fell down on the bed, face-first, and managed to roll himself over so he was now lying between Jerry and Beth. He stretched his arms above his head, looking like he owned the place (and perhaps, in a way, he did).   
  
"H-hey, heeeeeeey, Beth," he drawled, reaching into his pants once more - this time to fondle himself unabashedly, with no regard for Jerry whatsoever - Jerry, who had turned a fierce shade of red, and who was attempting to get as far away from Rick without breaking the stay-in-bed-after-ten rule. Rick's tongue  ran along his teeth, and he continued: "D'you, d-d'you remember - remember you were being such a baaaaad girl, and daddy had to show you wh-wh-what's - eugh - what?" He winked at her, slowly and lecherously, his thoughts very clear.   
  
Although he wasn't jerking off (yet?) it was obvious that he was at least massaging his dick, and finally Jerry couldn't stay quiet anymore. Almost falling off of the bed, he managed: "Rick what are you, what are you..." Doing? Talking about? Jerry wasn't entirely sure which question he wanted Rick to answer. He didn't really want to hear the answer to either, if he was entirely honest, and he looked at Beth, eyes wide and wet with fear and foreboding.   
  
"Y-you wanted to pay y-your good ol' dad back, remember?" Rick said, entirely ignoring Jerry. "Well, it's, it's time to pay the piper, Beth..."   


Heat rushed to both her crotch and her face as her father stretched out between them and boldly hit on her in her marriage bed right in front of Jerry. It was despicable, which was probably why Beth found the situation so desperately hot despite herself. She could see her father's half-hard cock bulging in the front of his slacks as his hand lazily groped himself. Beth felt her stomach twist as Jerry's confused and shellshocked gaze landed on her. Beth swallowed and did her best to pretend like her husband of 16 years wasn't staring at her like a broken hearted puppy.    
  
"I uhh--Dad, I-I," She floundered, what in the world was she supposed to say? "Dad, it's really late," Beth tried pathetically, "it's way past our curfew...maybe we could er "discuss" this tomorrow?" She asked hopefully.   
  
When her dad was drunk, it was always a challenge to not accidentally rile him up. But Beth couldn't help her eyes wander up and down his body as she spoke. For an old man, her father was lithe, athletic, and strong...what did he look like naked? What would he look like looming over her? Fat cock stuffed into her tight, dripping wet--   
  
Beth slid her hand under the covers and attempted to adjust her wet panties sticking against her crotch without drawing any attention to herself. Goddammit, why wasn't Jerry asleep!?   


A frown clouded Rick's face. He had clearly not expected any sort of resistance from Beth, and his hand stilled. He squinted at his daughter, as if scrutinizing a locked building for a point of entry. His gaze drifted down to her hand beneath the blanket and then back up to her face, a nasty grin blooming on his own. Slowly, like a snake on the prowl might move slowly, knowing that it'll catch its prey all the same, he turned to look at Jerry.   
  
"Jerry," he said, and where before the voice with which he'd addressed his son-in-law had been curt and clipped, it was now dripping with honey - or with venom? It was always hard to tell with Rick.   
  
Jerry swallowed, and pulled up the blankets to hide behind. He felt like a little kid, hiding underneath the blankets so the monsters couldn't get him. Still, he kept looking at Rick, knowing well enough that taking his eyes off of him now would make him even more vulnerable. "Y-yes?" he squeaked.   
  
Rick didn't say anything at first - only undid his fly, and pushed down his pants and underwear just far enough to rest below his balls. His cock was half-hard, and rapidly getting harder, bobbing lewdly. As Rick ran his index finger along the underside of the shaft. He quirked an eyebrow at Jerry, and then said: "Y-you two can choose... either y-your wife sucks my dick, or I... I-ll - eeuughh - beat y-your ass raw, Jerry. I-it's up to you."   
  
Jerry blanched, and, mouth open in horror, stared at Beth. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?   


Beth's eyes were riveted to her father's delicious-looking dick. He was huge and still not fully hard. While staring, Beth absentmindedly wondered if Morty had taken after Jerry or Rick down there...Jerry was average; painfully so. Average size, length, girth, and lasted on average, the average time most men did-- around seven or eight minutes before cumming and passing out in a heap on top of her. Her father on the other hand, was huge, and his fat cock was laced with veins, and his happy trail was oddly blue, just like his hair. Her mouth watered slightly.   
  
"Jerry." She said his name as she continued to stare at her father's meat with very thinly veiled desire, "it's uh--up to you, Jer, we can--I can--"   
  
Beth let the suggestion hang in the air. She knew full well that her pansy husband didn't want to endure another beating at the hands of his father-in-law, but he was also most definitely not going to be keen on the idea of watching her suck off her own dad.   
  
But the one thing Beth didn't want him to do, was assume that they were going to challenge her father with some kind of "united front" nonsense. No, Beth didn't enjoy the idea of getting punished first and then servicing her father; she'd go along with it, plus, his cock looked amazing, and the longer she openly stared at it, the more she wanted to greedily shove it into her mouth like a hungry kid with a hot dog.   


"Wh-what do you mean?!" Jerry gaped at his wife, shocked - but his shock was quickly turning to fury. "What?" he asked again, his voice rising in both volume and pitch. "What have you guys been up to?!" he demanded shrilly, looking from Beth to Rick with an increasingly clear idea of what had potentially transpired between the two of them. He couldn't believe this - with her own dad?! He always thought Beth was the strong, conscientious one in their marriage, and now this?   
  
Rick yawned, clearly bored with the unfolding scene. This only infuriated Jerry more, and he shrieked: "Obviously neither!" with tears in his eyes. "How can you even... you're a psychopath! No! I, I don't consent to any of this!"   
  
Rick turned over to look at Beth, sucking in a breath before tut-tutting. "Sh-shaaaame," he slurred. "I-I guess I'll have to, have to change the terms, huh... h-h-how's about this, Jerrrrr... either y-your wife sucks me off or I beat herrr ass... that a, that a better choice, Jerry?"   
  
And Jerry, for his part, looked at Beth, his mouth a thin, hard line.   


Beth furiously whipped her head around to glare accusingly, how dare he judge her!? And since the decision now completely rested on what was going to happen to her, Beth removed him from the decision making process.   
  
"Well you may not consent Jerry," She began haughtily, "but I don't want a spanking! Besides," Beth paused, besides what? It's not like she had a good excuse, so she frowned angrily at him and crossed her arms, the blanket dropping to her waist, her lush breasts squeezed together by her defensive posture.    
  
She felt embarrassed, but rather, not from her behavior, or the wanton lechery of her father, but by Jerry's prudishness. She recognized how unfair she was being; her and her father were after all, being utterly disgusting, but still!   
  
She switched her attention back to her dad, who was gazing up at them both from the bed. "I don't," Beth hesitated, hmm, better sweeten up just in case Jerry had pissed him off; Beth began again, "Daddy, please, I don't...want you to spank me," She tightened her arms slightly, she knew how good she looked in this nightie, "I w-wanna, I wanna--" She stopped right before describing what she really wanted to do. That is, choke on her dad's dick while he told her what a good girl she was. God, the thought alone got her wetter, and she felt her face turn red as she fumbled with the blond curls that fell against her shoulder.   


"Beth... 's not up to you," Rick slurred with barely contained schadenfreude. He was clearly having an even better time than he'd been expecting, and he took hold of his still-hard cock once more, jerking himself off lazily as he looked back at Jerry. "S-so what - eeeuughh - what'll it be, Jer?" he asked, voice condescending.   
  
Not that Jerry seemed to mind. He looked as if he was barely aware of Rick's presence. His eyes narrowed as he stared hard at Beth. She apparently felt confident enough to shit all over him, and then openly flirt with her father. When Rick had first barged into their room with his disgusting demands, Jerry had been planning to support her, to make sure that the both of them would experience this encounter unscathed - but she didn't seem to see the two of them as a team, so why should he? "Spank her," he hissed, dropping the blanket to fold his arms, his lips twisted in a sneer.   
  
With a grunt, Rick sat up, and tucked his cock back into his pants before making his way to the side of the bed Beth was sitting on. He swung his legs over the side, and patted his lap. "Now, Beth," he said, uncharacteristically cheerful.   


"Daddy--" Beth felt herself get teary and she wasn't even over her father's lap yet! She glared at Jerry. So he really wanted to play dirty, huh? Fair enough; he was an idiot whether he knew it or not, and Beth was already plotting her revenge. He'd get his comeuppance soon enough.   
  
She slowly crawled on the bed over to her father, taking pains to delay as long as possible. She was healed from her previous spankings, but that didn't mean she was hankering for more. As she got to his side, Beth looked at her father pleadingly, anxious to avoid his firm hand; but her dad's steely gaze was unmoved, and so she bowed her head in defeat and slinked her way across his lap, her bottom pushed up over his thighs. At least this would be a relatively more comfortable spanking (as comfortable as spankings could be anyway) since her legs and upper body were supported by the bed.    
  
It occurred to the blond as she stretched out over her father's knee and apprehensively waited for him to begin, that while Jerry's wish had been to not see anything sexy trespass between her and her father, it might not come true anyway, if her last spanking had been any indication. Balling up the covers in her hands Beth tried to stay still out of pride, although her nerves screamed at her to wiggle around to release her nervous energy. When her father's hand touched the small of her back, she trembled.   


"Y-you heard your husband," Rick sneered above her, "s-so just take it like a big girl, huh?" Although he was still slightly wobbly, it seemed that being put in the position of spanker sobered him up at least a little, and the first smack crashed into Beth's ass hard. Rick immediately flipped up her barely-there nightie, rubbing the fabric between his fingers and humming appreciatively. "Y-you - eeuuughh - y-y-you wear this just for daddy?" he said, tone dripping with disdain. "Bet you were wishing y-your dad would come and give it to you hard... w-well, little sluts like you d-don't get what they want." He looked over his shoulder, where a pale Jerry was stubbornly watching the scene unfold. "D-d-do - eeeuughh - do they now, Jerry?"   
  
Jerry got off of the bed by way of a response, and almost looked as if he was going to leave - but then decided to lean against the wall where he could get a better view of Beth's face. "I can't believe you, Beth," he said, teeth gritted. "I can't believe you're so... so messed up in the head that you'd get up to all sorts of... all sorts of depravity with your own father! Did you think I wouldn't find out?!"   
  
"N-nice, taking over the lecturing duties," Rick guffawed, landing a few more solid swats on the seat of Beth's panties. "No c-c-complaints - euughh - here, Jerry... more time for me to focus on the task at, at hand." Grinning, he pulled down Beth's panties in as smooth a motion as he could manage. Her ass was pink already, but barely warmed up enough for a bare-bottom spanking. Of course, that was no problem of Rick's, and he continued his hand spanking, covering her ass all the way down to her thighs.   


Beth bit back a savage reply to her husband and ducked her head to push her face into the blankets. She wouldn't let her asshole wimp of a husband enjoy the sight of her tears. For goodness' sake, Jerry was acting like she had seduced her father! Which...wasn't exactly that far off the mark, but he still had no right to lecture her.   
  
Behind her, Dad was busy lighting her ass up like a Christmas tree, and although he had told her to take it like a big girl, the combination of being awoken in the middle of the night, and the unique shame of Jerry once again getting to watch her bottom paddled over her father's knee, made her squirmy fairly quickly.   
  
"Owwwww--" She expressed her displeasure muffled into the covers and dug her toes into the mattress, squeezed her fists into her hair, and panted adorably--anything to help distract her from the pain and enable her to tolerate her spanking until it was over...   
  
All in vain. With her panties discarded,  and her father's hard hand smacking away, Beth's hold on her composure was tenuous, to say the least.    
  
"Please!" Beth clutched at the blanket with one hand, desperately trying to refrain from reaching back, "yeeoooww, daddy, p-please, ahh!!"   


"Please what?" Rick played dumb. "I-it's your husband you - eeughh - should be talking to, Beth." He seemed quite pleased to be playing the part of disembodied hand while Jerry gave Beth a stern talking-to, and - drunk though he was - he watched his son-in-law closely to time the spanking to Jerry's pedantic lecture. He could see Jerry gearing up for another tirade, and he mercifully paused his spanking, resting his hand on Beth's ass, which was bright red and hot to the touch.   
  
"Look at me," Jerry demanded, and Rick decided to help (or, well, 'help') by yanking Beth's head up by her hair. "I... I would never have expected you to behave like this!" Jerry said, sounding equal parts hurt and angry. "I expect this sort of thing from Rick," he huffed, and Rick hummed with amusement, "but you! I didn't know you were this much of a... of a slut to lust after... after... after your own father!"   
  
Jerry's fists trembled by his sides, and Rick took this as a sign that the lecturing was on hold again, so he swatted Beth's ass again - and again, and again, speeding up until it was a flurry of smacks abusing her poor bottom, covering her entire plump, youthful ass. The white handprints he left barely had time to fade before he'd hit the same spot again, and the sound of hand against flesh echoed through the bedroom.   


When her father yanked her up by the hair, Beth had already been hiding a few pitiable tears, but as he kept a hold on her head and began swatting once more, Beth was left to stare straight ahead at Jerry as a battered sob forced it's way out of her open mouth.    
  
"Of course I'm a - I'm a slut, y-you-oww, Daaad--you stupid idiot, Jerry! Did you forget you knocked me up in high school!?"    
  
A particularly hard smack caught her off guard and Beth's hand flew back, but before she reached back to block his next swat, she controlled herself and instead stopped her hand at her father's knee, gripping it firmly in an attempt to stop herself from getting her ass into more trouble.   
  
She was still aggravated, but now crying earnestly, and the shrill tongue lashing she gave Jerry was interrupted by frequent, hiccuping, cries.   
  
"Y-y-you (sniff) have no right to judge me, Jerry! I, owwww--huhhh--I work all day, and still come home and have to deal with your silly nonsense--ahh! N-not to mention how often you hide behind me because you're so scared of Dad, y-you can't just take it--and, and-" Beth paused to gasp out a long cry as Dad set her bottom ablaze, "and here I am, getting spanked again because of you, are y-you surprised!?" Beth spat out venomously, "I need to be taken care of too!" Before she collapsed onto the bed, wiggling and bawling, just short of throwing a temper tantrum, only because she didn't want her father to escalate her punishment.   


"W-wow, you sure have a mouth on you, huh?" Rick shook his head, and looked at Jerry, who was pale with silent fury. He'd clearly been expecting his wife to be more contrite, and the anger she'd directed at him had come as a surprise. Rick found the whole situation hilarious, but all the same, Beth needed to learn that when she was over a lap, she had better change her tune. "H-hey Jerry, are y-y-you - eeuugh - gonna let her, let her talk to you like that?"   
  
"Well, well, I..." Jerry stammered in impotent anger.   
  
"I've got an idea," Rick interrupted. "Wh-why don't you go and grab me something I can... I can beat this naughty little slut with, huh? That'll - euughh - that'll teach her to watch her mouth when she, when she's getting spanked."   
  
Jerry stood frozen for a moment, but then dashed out of the bedroom as if Rick had promised him there was a new car waiting in the driveway. 

As soon as Jerry had left the room, Beth breathed in relief; a blessed few seconds without his judgemental gaze was heaven. Not that her father let her enjoy it; really, he seemed to redouble his efforts, and Beth struggled to take her spanking properly. With Jerry gone, she begged again, bouncing around over her Dad's knee, "Daddy, please I'll--I'll be good, Jerry is being mean, it's n-not my faa-haaault--"

Jerry returned soon after - holding the same wooden spoon that had driven Morty to despair weeks earlier. "Here," he said, a little breathlessly. "That'll... that'll teach you to talk back, Beth!"   


Beth froze when she saw the spoon. After that terrible scene in the kitchen that morning, a day or so later, while cooking dinner, Beth had taken the spoon out, and after checking about to make sure she was out of earshot from anyone, she had smacked it against her palm experimentally... hard. The implement was hard, solid, and the satisfying 'thwack' that followed its application was intimidating. 

Beth barely got words out as she sobbed, "R-reeally, Jerrr? (Sniff) y-you, you, really, hhhuhh-p-picked the spoon, how cou-could youuu?" 

Rick, smiling, took the spoon from him, and patted Beth's ass with it lightly. "I-I'm gonna ask Jerry to give me a number, Beth," he crooned. "Anything you want to tell him before I - eeeuugggh - ask him...?   
  
In her thrashing, the front of her nightie had come completely undone, and pushed up on her elbows, Beth's rosy, naked breasts were on full display for Jerry beneath her teary face. She couldn't even meet his gaze, and kept her eyes on the mattress beneath her, "I'm sorry, Jerry--" Beth didn't specify for what. She certainly wouldn't say she was sorry for letting her father finger fuck her. But sorry for bullying Jerry, even while getting a spanking? Sure, sorry. But she was genuine at least in part; her bottom glowed, her nose was crimson and completely stuffed.    
  
Despite her misery, Beth's new youth and natural beauty somehow managed to make her look devastatingly sexy even while sobbing her heart out during a spanking; a phenomenon she was utterly unaware of. "Jerry, please," She glanced at him softly, quickly, before averting her eyes again.   


Jerry felt a slight pang of guilt at his wife's despair. He had wanted to put her in her place, but he hadn't foreseen that 'in her place' would mean having her reduced to a crying, despondent mess. She looked hot, to be sure, but that realization only made Jerry feel even worse that he'd let jealousy drive him this far. In the kitchen the spoon had seemed like a stellar idea, and he'd barely been able to suppress a cackle as he fished it out of the drawer. Now, he became dimly aware of what an absolute asshole he was being to his wife, who might be a raging bitch, but who'd also been supportive during his general tragedy of a life.   
  
"Oh, god, Beth," he said. "Um, I'm... Rick, I... it's not, you know, it's not necessary to, uh..."   
  
Rick, however, looked at him stoically, again tapping the spoon against Beth's glowing ass. "H-h-how many, Jerry?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. He seemed a lot more sober than when he first burst into their bedroom, and it sent a chill down Jerry's spine to think that he might have been faking his inebriation to seem less threatening.   
  
"Rick, we don't..." Jerry tried again, eyes still trained on his teary wife. Oh god, this was his fault, wasn't it? He looked up at Rick, begging him with his eyes, but Rick clearly was not planning on budging. Finally, defeated, Jerry said: "Um... t-t-t-two?"   
  
Rick pursed his lips. His gaze flickered down to Beth, and he licked his lips at the sight of her over his lap. "T-twenty-two, Jer?" he replied, and whistled. "Whoo-ee, y-you're really letting her have it, huh...? W-well, whatever you, whatever y-you say, big guy..."   
  
And with that, the spoon crashed down on Beth's bright red bottom. And once more - and once more. Rick was clearly not holding back, letting her have it. Jerry stood rooted to the spot, trembling and horrified. "N-no!" he tried weakly. "That's... no, stop...!"   


The moment the number '2' rolled out of her husband's mouth, Beth paused her crying to give a loud, exasperated groan of disgust. She darted a vehement look at lean, shivering boy who watched with wild-eyed terror at their combined predicament. Of course you can't give a low number! Had Jerry said perhaps "an even ten" or maybe "twelve of the best" she would've gotten off relatively easy, but now her Dad had picked the number.   
  
"D-daaaadyyyy--" she wailed at ceiling, before slamming her face down onto the bed. The spoon seared into her butt cheeks one at a time, and Beth sobbed into the blankets as her father briskly tanned her bottom.    
  
But Beth was her father's daughter, and that Sanchez stubbornness fueled her continued rage. She was, after all, turned over her father's knee wet, and a thorough spanking, although punishingly hard, had just made it more apparent - in fact, Beth hoped it hadn't soaked through onto Dad's warm..solid..thigh beneath her... Abruptly, the blond decided she would show her sniveling excuse for a partner how to 'take' something. And maybe...Daddy would notice...if she was a good girl like last time.    
  
She kept her legs mostly straight, only kicking once in a while from unfairly - placed smacks, and although her hands were animated, she didn't reach back. Every swat she yelled into her pile of blankets, until finally arriving at number ten, she lifted her head up to gasp for air and her inside hand reached to the side, grasping the very edge of her father's sweater. She squeezed in her palm, quivering from head to toe, her pajama nightie twisted into a messy red rope around her middle, Beth was for all intents and purposes a naked, red-bottomed, soundly spanked little girl. (And over her father's knee no less)   


As Jerry looked on in abject terror, Rick was having the time of his life. His plan when he'd come up here was to get his dick sucked, but this was so much better - not only did he love the sounds Beth made whenever she found herself over his lap, but to mortify Jerry while he was giving his wife a beating made it all the sweeter. It was difficult to tear his gaze away from Beth's bottom, which turned more and more mottled as the spanking went on, but he did it all the same to give Jerry a stern nod - you did it, Jerry... you made this happen.   
  
"Y-you're being such a good girl now," he sighed after smack number ten, wistfully looking at the small hand on his sweater. "F-fucking hell, Beth... if you, if you - eeuughh - if you were this good all the time, daddy wouldn't have to spank you, huh?"   
  
He glanced at Jerry as two of his fingers dipped between Beth's thigh to rub at her wet pussy. "Y-y'know, good girls get a looooot more done," he grinned, voice silky smooth with promise. "While - eeughh - bad girls only get their ass beat," he concluded, and brought the spoon down once more. God, he loved his daughter. In the 'paternal love' way, sure, although he'd never been much of a father figure to Beth - but the way she lay there, twisting on his lap, desperate to take her spanking like a grown woman, with that supple body and her soft skin... Jesus, it was uncharacteristic, but he was itching to get this spanking over and done with so he could take what he'd come here for in the first place.   
  
"D-don't touch her like that," Jerry whimpered from the corner in which he'd retreated. His little power trip had long since ended, and any delusions he might have had of Rick being on his side all but evaporated when his father-in-law all but fingered his thoroughly spanked wife.   


Beth responded to her father's firm fingers with a shudder and a sweet little sigh, so soft, perhaps only Dad could've heard it. The affectionate, familiar way he touched her made the girl arch her back slightly, and Beth was inspired to try twice as hard to keep still if only to earn more 'special attention.'  
  
"I'll--ohhh--I'll b-be good, I will, Daddy--" Beth promised, thankful for sweet respite, short it may be.  
  
The spoon rudely interrupted her fingering, and Beth groaned long and deep, writhing against the fingers slipping between her folds, closing her eyes, blocking out the sight of her husband... and then his nasally voice broke the moment.   
  
Beth snapped her eyes back open to look at Jerry and she flushed. If she told him to shut up would her father punish her more? If she backed him up--well there was no way Beth wasn't going to fool around now; she was suffering a mostly unearned spanking, she deserved some playtime afterward. Her father hadn't moved his hand, but Beth rocked back gently against him, an invitation, a plea... Maybe Dad would finally put her husband in his place, and then finish her spanking and then finish something else...  


"I-I thought you wanted me to spank y-y-your - euughhh - wife," Rick replied simply, and punctuated this by slipping his fingers inside Beth. He only had seven smacks with the spoon left, and he was determined to make him count. "Y-you hear that, baby?" he murmured to Beth, crooking his fingers inside her. "You got, you got Jerry to thank for this. So thank him, will y-you? Tell him why - euugghh - why you're just so, so grateful."   
  
Grinning wickedly, he continued Beth's undeserved punishment. With his hand positioned like this, he could even tease at her asshole with his thumb, and he made greedy use of this opportunity. All her holes were just so fucking tight, and he couldn't wait to have her gasping and begging around his cock. Maybe today he'd be a little nicer... but one of these days he'd jam his cock in her ass until she cried. Knowing his little girl, she'd deserve it sooner or later.    
  
Jerry, meanwhile, felt lightheaded. How was this happening? He'd attempted to prevent exactly this outcome, but now Beth lay there writhing and moaning anyway. Had he ever made her writhe or moan like that? If he had, it must have been at least a decade ago, and his worry for his wife was soured by jealousy and indignation once more. This slut. This slut.   


"Thh-ANK—ahh! Thank you, J-Jerryyy—“ Beth could barely form words around the mix of noises forcing their way out of her mouth as she moaned from pleasure and wept from pain simultaneously, “thank you f-for asking Daddy to—ouuuch—to punish me—“   
  
Those long, wicked fingers rubbed up inside her, twisting fiendishly as the spoon continued to whack down onto her already thoroughly bruised bottom. Beth was a mess; and although at this point she was kicking fair bit more in response to her father’s skillful application of the spoon she still hadn’t reached back or tried to get off his lap. She could feel a calloused thumb brazenly press against her asshole and she squeaked in surprise as her father stroked small little circles there experimentally. Anal was something Beth found a big degrading, but terribly sexy; and it was something she didn’t generally encourage from Jerry—not that he was creative enough to even think of doing something other than vaginal missionary. But as much as Beth had been fantasizing about riding her father’s cock, the visual of him ramming her ass wide open was as horrific as it was hot, and Beth suddenly had something new to get off on late at night.   
  
The last three swats were resoundingly hard, and Beth screamed for each one, no longer caring about whether or not she was waking up the kids (at this point, who knows what they had heard anyway), and fell onto the bed, heaving with relieved sobs, praying that at least the painful part of this experience was over as she didn’t think her ass could take any more. “(sniff) Daaad—” She squeezed his sweater in her hand and turned her head to the side, peering up at him from the corner of her blurry, puffy eyes, searching his face for hints to his next move.   
  
She could feel Jerry’s angry gaze still on her, but exhausted, disciplined and thoroughly submissive, Beth didn’t care as long as her Dad took care of her. And judging by the way his fingers inside her pressed up against her G-spot knowingly and pulled a long, low groan from her throat, he was definitely planning to take care of her.   


"Yeah?" Rick mumbled. "Y-you were real good, weren't you, baby girl..." He glanced at Jerry, a greasy smile on his face. That fucker thought he could dictate what Rick would and wouldn't get up to? He'd show that asshole who was the boss around here. He didn't want his wife to suck his dick? Well, fine. That was hardly the only thing he could get up to that would surely have Jerry flustering and fainting. "Such a good girl for daddy... boy, th-that, that... that husband of yours sure let y-y-you - eeeuuggghh - have it, h-huh...? But y-your dad's proud of you, Beth..."   


Despite the fact that it really had been her father whacking away at her ass, hearing him phrase it as if he had only been proxy for her husband made Beth feel a lot more charitable toward her father as she lay over his lap. Logically, she understood that her father was cleverly playing them against each other, but she was too busy being annoyed with Jerry to care.  
  
”Ohhh—“ Beth cooed as her nether regions were expertly teased as she twisted in ecstasy. She could feel the hard bulge of a fat cock just waiting for her press insistently against her thigh as she listened to him drone sexily above her head. She wanted badly to be fucked proper; to feel herself stretch to accommodate her father, to beg for him—but in front of Jerry…?

"Good girl..." His voice was smooth enough, but he couldn't hide the fact that he had to swallow down the saliva collecting in his mouth. He'd come here to get his relief, and if anything, spanking Beth had his cock throbbing even harder. He fingered his daughter roughly, pushing his thumb into her ass and pressing into her G-spot even more insistently. "She, she, sh-she sure deserves a reward, don't you agree, Jerry?"   
  
Jerry took a step forward, shaking with rage and humiliation. "Let her go," he demanded shrilly, tearing up. "This is... this is wrong!" His chest heaved with barely suppressed sobs, and it was only the determination not to show Rick that he had gotten to him that kept him from crying outright.   
  
"She sssuuuuuuuure does," Rick slurred, his free hand stroking Beth's hair. "What'll it be, baby girl? Do y-you... do you want daddy to give you that, that fucking you've been rubbing your pussy to?" His thumb pressed deeper into her asshole, and he huffed. "Or maybe y-you're not done being naughty. Maybe you, you want your dad to stick it in heeeere..."

Beth writhed over her father’s knee, tear stained cheek rubbing into the pillow as she arched her back and pushed against his fingers deep inside her as he murmured above her how good she had been. Beth ate it up; she loved hearing praise from her Dad, and hearing it while he was knuckle deep inside her dripping cunt was a hundred times better. When his dry thumb popped into her suddenly, the jolt of pain and mild humiliation of having, well, the family patriarch’s thumb up her ass, had Beth gasping in surprise.   


He withdrew his fingers. "Or, or - eeuughh - do you w-want daddy's mouth on you again? Let's hear it, baby... anything for my, for my good little girl..."   
  
When Dad’s fingers withdrew, Beth wiggled impatiently at being left hanging, but it looked like she wasn’t being given an option. If she didn’t speak up she knew full well her dad was vindictive enough to simply leave. She trailed her hand up to his chest where she turned her torso slightly and clutched at the front of his blue sweater with her trembling little fist.   
  
“I-I-“ Beth was momentarily flustered, but when she caught Dad’s gaze leveled down at her she felt warmth rise up in her chest and she sighed suddenly-- fuck she loved him so much. He wasn’t always worth of her adoration, sure, but from the moment he first picked her up as a baby, to right now, laying over his lap, sore, wet, and squirming, Beth realized she really would always be a daddy’s girl. “I want you to-to fuck my slutty little cunt Daddy, please,” Beth licked her lips, having completely forgotten about the fact that Jerry was even in the room, “Please, Daddy, I want to feel your cock break me in – in haaalf, mmm—”   
  
She could feel his groin twitch, and Beth pulled her bottom lip into her mouth to nip with her teeth as she gazed up at her Dad, trying her best to look pretty, worried that post-crying her face was a mess.   


Rick grinned back at his mess of a daughter, all teeth and condescension. Jesus, how was he supposed to say no to a face like that? Not that there was a single atom in his body that even considered the option of doing the proper thing and abandoning this whole affair forever. His dick throbbed in his slacks, and he couldn't wait to feel that tight little cunt expand to its limits to accommodate him. He couldn't suppress a deep groan, and helped his daughter to her feet. "Take off that - that little thing first," he said, indicating her nightie. "Let me see those tits of yours..." He reached out and groped her roughly by way of encouragement, thumb sliding over her nipple, before unzipping his fly and pulling out his cock.   
  
It looked massive, and as he gave it a few tugs, it became obvious that he hadn't even been fully hard yet. He licked his lips, looking down at his crotch - he'd been with quite a few Ricks in his time, and he knew just how good that meaty cock could feel. "It's gonna hurt, princess," he cooed, Beth's childhood nickname sounding so much filthier than it ever had before. "But a-a good girl like you knows that sometimes you gotta push through the hurt to - eeeuughh - feel good, don't you?"   
  
He helped his daughter back on his lap, one leg on either side, and lined up the head of his cock with her sopping wet pussy. "So wet for daddy," he crooned, his hands on her hips. "Are y-y-you gonna, gonna fuck yourself on that cock or do I need to push you down?"   


Beth couldn't suppress the impressed little coo of approval as she looked down once more at the cock she'd soon be skewered on. Bracing her hands timidly against his shoulders, Beth pressed forward, and ground gently against the tip of his dick. Her father was warm against the her sticky, swollen labia, and a stuttered moan rumbled through the blond at just that minor touch.   
  
At her father's suggestion, she glanced up and pouted, moving one hand down to wrap around his shaft to steer him into her, "No, I can do it--" she sniveled at him childishly, as she rocked forward again, slipping his tip inside her with a little grunt of effort.  
  
Jesus he was big. Although, she considered, her new body was also very tight, and didn't have the benefit of a pussy that had endured two children passing through already. This was going to be painful. If she hadn't already been wet from enduring yet another spanking there was no way she'd be able to take him, but sufficiently slippery, she was able to slide down, inch by excruciating inch, until she was seated flush against him, her chest pressed tightly into him, the lips of her pussy rubbing against the blue tufts of hair at the end of his happy trail. Beth shuddered violently,  
  
"Oh my goood..." pressing her open mouth against his chest, she panted hot air against him as she tried to adjust, mentally and physically to how completely filled she currently was. "Y-you're sssoo--so thick, Daddy, f-fuck..."

Jerry had watched the events unfold as one might in a nightmare: rooted to the spot, and with the uncomfortable realization that there was nothing he could do about any of it. This last question of Rick's was clearly too much, though, and he stammered and stumbled over a mumbled protest before glancing at the door. If he couldn't stop this (and he couldn't) at least he didn't have to watch.   
  
Rick's head immediately shot to his son-in-law, any tender traces that might have been there when he was looking at Beth decidedly gone. "You wanted this," he hissed, and Jerry froze in his tracks. "And, I-I'll tell you, Jerry - if you, if you leave, you're never sitting down again."   
  
Jerry, who had only received that one spanking at the hand of Rick, gasped at the threat. How had this night gone so horribly wrong? He backed up against the wall, instinctively protecting his ass, but made no further move to leave the room.   
  
Beth was unsure if this little evening activity was meant to be affectionate or controlling or just plain lusty greed, but riding the high of sexual satisfaction, Beth stretched up against her father anyway and licked at his jugular, before stretching up further to suck the drool off his chin. It tasted disgusting, like old alcohol and older vomit, but she licked her lips and smiled at him anyway as she lifted up with some difficulty and sat back down again, building up a slow, steady rhythm as she fucked herself on his cock. She knew she was moving slow, but she was still trying to give her pussy time to stretch before her father inevitably fucked any morals she had left out of her.    
  
"Ahhnn---fffffuuu-ooohh--" in her own ears, she sounded like an idiot, but Beth couldn't hold back the breathy grunts and groans that dribbled from her mouth as she bounced on Dad's dick and let her grabby little fingers grope and explore his chest, his neck, the curve of his shoulders--   


"You can do better than that, baby," Rick grinned, before pushing her down on his aching cock. While he certainly enjoyed all this ooh-ing and ahh-ing, his favorite Beth was surely a Beth in tears and mild discomfort, and the fact that she was half-heartedly attempting to kiss him was certainly a sign that she was having a bit too much of a good time. He fucked up into her, his fingers finding their way to her nipples once more the squeeze roughly, a slight smile on his face as he tilted his head back, looking down his nose at his delightfully filthy little girl.   
  
She felt amazing around his cock - tight, hot, wet, and all this in a way that he hadn't felt in ages. He didn't usually get to fuck teenagers (if only because finding them and dealing with them was a lot more trouble than Rick Sanchez generally felt like) and he'd entirely forgotten about how good it felt to have a wanton, youthful body stretch around you. He groaned again, as much to show pleasure as to show possession, and smirked briefly at Jerry, who had covered his face with his hands but was still surveying the scene through his fingers.   
  
"Ssssssuch a wet little slut for daddy," Rick slurred, more to Jerry than Beth, his hands roaming over her body to end up splayed on her glowing ass. "Y-you - eeeuggghh - you like that thick cock, Beth? You like me stretching that sluttly cunt of yours, huh?" His breathing became more labored, but it had little to do with stamina - it was just beginning to annoy him that Beth mostly set the pace, as she clearly had a very different idea about what constituted a hard fucking. When she pushed herself up again, he twisted around, depositing her on the bed on her belly.   
  
"I-I-I think I promised you a hard fucking," he hissed in her ear, pinning her wrists to the mattress. "Now put your ass up and beg me, Beth."   


It wasn't unexpected, but Beth still yelped in surprise as she was forced down onto the bed. She always knew her father was going to fuck her raw, which was precisely why she had taken her time and fucked him so slowly just moments before. At least now she was stretched a tiny bit more than previously and his cock wouldn't literally rip her apart if he banged her as hard as he had just spanked her.    
  
Her wrists stung--he was holding her down hard, and the possessiveness of the gesture, the desirous way he licked his lips and grabbed at her made her pussy throb expectantly. With him looming over her, she obediently arched her back, slowly sliding her knees up the bed to rest beneath her hips, supporting her.  "Daddy, please fuck me, please--" Beth groaned as his hands tightened around her wrists when she called him that, "I want your fat fucking cock stuffed inside me, please," the blond wiggled her ass inviting, "f-fuck me good and put me in my place like I--like I deserve, Daddyyy--"   


"Oh, I will," Rick grinned, "I will, baby..." And with that, he plunged his cock into her to the hilt, moving his hands to her hips to pull her even further down. He moaned loudly and lewdly at the feeling of her around his dick, before halfway pulling out, and slamming in again.   
  
"Babyyy," he moaned, "if, if your dad had known y-you were such a slut, he would've... would've fucked you a looooooong time ago." To punctuate this, he pulled out and rammed into her once more, before leaning over her and sliding a magnanimous hand around her stomach to rub at her clit with the very tip of his index finger.   
  
Jerry heaved - he couldn't help it. Pressing a fist to his mouth, he willed the bile down, looking away from the sight of his aging father-in-law balls-deep in his beautiful, youthful wife. He sure hadn't gotten to fuck Beth like that in a long time, and he was more than a little jealous, more than a little nauseated, and more than a little... aroused? Oh, god... surely not...!   
  
Rick, meanwhile, continued rubbing at Beth's clit and roughly slapped her ass with his other hand. "Sssso wet for spanking, and soooo - eeeuuggghh - wet for your daddy's cock," he hissed, spanking her again. "H-how's your daddy ever gonna teach you a lesson if you, if you just loooove being fucked so much...."   


Beth was noisily appreciative of the savage dicking she was currently receiving, and expressed her pleasure as loud as she wanted--Summer and Morty at this point were absolutely awake anyway. Every powerful thrust jolted through her as her father slammed his hips forward again and again, and again.   
  
It had been a long time since someone had fucked her into a mattress, and Beth had actually forgotten how glorious it was to be manhandled so roughly during sex; particularly by someone who knew what they were doing. The hand on her clit twirling tight circles in rhythm to her father's thrusts had already prompted two orgasms, and Beth incredibly felt her third building up. God when was the last she'd cum multiple times?? She blushed at the dirty talk, it reminded her how truly vile this entire scenario was, but it certainly didn't stop her from pushing back and grinding into him as they fucked.   
  
The smacks on her tender ass were greeted by shrieks of shocked pain and Beth actually gasped out a dry sob; her ass hurt more than she realized in the ecstasy of sex. Sitting down would be a problem tomorrow. At her father's mostly-rhetorical question, Beth half-turned her face to wink cheekily up at him, "mmmm--I, ohhh! I-I promise I'm learning my lesson, Daddy--I'm just, ahhn--just a slow learner, heh!"   
  
She snickered at her own dumb joke, but it switched to a long, loud sigh, as his cock hit her just right, and she came for the third time, trembling against the mattress, holding her position only by the grace of God.   
  
She reached both hands back and pulled apart her chubby thighs, giving her father more room to plunge even deeper into her as she pushed her face into the mattress and groaned sweetly, "goddammit Daddy, y-you feel sssoo goooood...."   


"So good, huh?" Rick groaned, fucking his daughter with abandon. "Th-that why you, why you keep coming, baby?" He slapped her ass again before hunching over her and hissing in her ear: "Next time, daddy's gonna punish you if you come without permission, baby girl... something to, to remember..."   
  
Still, he couldn't judge too much, as he could feel his own orgasm building rapidly. It was all too much: he was drunk, and his daughter was hot and tight around his aching cock, and Jerry was snivelling in the corner, and Beth kept saying the most disgusting things. His thrusting turned more violent and more erratic, and finally he grabbed Beth by the hair, pulling her up roughly.   
  
"Hope y-y-you're on the pill, bitch," he sneered. "D-daddy's not holding - u-ugghhh, ughhh.... not holding back." And with that, he groaned loudly, hips slamming against her plump ass, as he came into her - and every hot spurt was followed by another, and another... Rick hadn't indulged in anything like this in ages, and with Beth moaning and crying around him, he couldn't help but empty himself inside his daughter.   
  
His thrusts became more frenzied, and she could feel his fingers dig into her plush flesh as he approached orgasm. When he hauled her up by her hair and roughly informed her that she had better be on birth control, Beth had to stifle a laugh--she'd made the doctors tie her tubes after delivering Morty via Cesarean, but Jerry didn't know, and frankly, her father could go ahead and assume whatever he wanted too--   
  
Dad's cum was hot and there was so much, Beth found herself wondering how an old man could be so virile at this stage of his life. But then, Rick Sanchez was no ordinary man, a fact she was well acquainted with as his daughter.    
  
"Ohh god--" Beth clutched the covers as her father finished inside her, and as he pulled out, she stayed in position and breathed deeply for a moment, relishing the feeling of cum dripping down between her thighs before collapsing on her side on the bed. Her ass hurt, her cunt was stretched and sore, her body felt used and abused, and it was an utter delight. If it hadn't been for the fact that there were still two men in the room with her, both of whom seemed to be in strange moods, Beth would've passed out right then and there: naked, bruised, dripping cum and tears and curled up in fetal position. Weakly smiling at nothing, with her eyes sleepily half-closed, Beth murmured, "Thaaanks, d-daddy..."   


"Y-y-you're welcome," Rick sneered, tucking his cock back into his pants. "You're, you're daddy's little slut after all..." He leaned over her to roughly finger her abused cunt, still leaking his own cum, and then shoved his filthy finger in her mouth. "Y-you're sleeping naked from now on," he instructed, pulling his finger out of her mouth to smack her on the ass. "You wanted to give daddy a taste, huh? W-welllll... be, eeuggh, be careful what you wish for, baby..."   
  
Finally he stepped away from the bed, hungry eyes roving over his daughter's body. She looked fucked silly for sure, and he couldn't wait to get her into this state again. For now, though, he was tired and drunk, and he couldn't wait to hit his cot and sleep the sleep of the not-entirely-innocent. On his way out the door he slapped Jerry on the shoulder, and then he was gone.   
  
Rick had barely left the room before Jerry crawled onto the bed, his hands hovering over his wife, too scared to touch her body. "B-Beth?" he stammered, unsure whether he should comfort or chastise her, or both, or neither. "What, what, what..." he stuttered, terrified, distraught, and half-hard.   


Beth dimly heard the new rule and rolled her eyes as soon as her father was out of eyesight. Great. Sleeping in the nude wasn't the worst thing in the world, but it meant she was now far more defenseless should any drunken, horny family members stumble into their room again. Beth wondered if she should be feeling regret right now for opening up the Pandora's box of depravity she was now forced to endure and participate in by allowing her father to finger fuck her days ago. Dad was a rough, demanding, emotionally cruel and physically taxing sexual partner; but he was so goddamn good at it, Beth couldn't find it in her to care.   
  
She heard him leave the room. She heard Jerry pad over to the bed, and felt the mattress dip beside her from his weight. For the first time, Beth felt a twinge of sympathy. Jerry was a simpleton attempting to match wits with an intergalactic genius, of course he was having a bad go of it. As he hovered over her and sputtered incoherently, Beth turned over slightly, avoiding direct contact with her ass, and taking his hands in her own, she kissed his fingertips before gently intoning,    
  
"Dad is gonna do whatever he wants to do, Jer..." She rubbed his knuckles with her thumbs, "it's pointless to try to stop him, he just makes it worse." She bit back a retort that if he had just let her suck off her father from the beginning the evening would've been far more mild. She tried to drum up some affection in her voice and half-succeeded, but honestly, she was tired, and coddling Jerry's feelings was not a fun activity, "Jerry I do love you, I know you (yawn) might hate me right now, but it won't do either of us any good."    
  
As her eyes moved over her husband she abruptly noticed the front of his pajamas tented forward and smirked slightly, "Although I see you weren't entirely put off by what you saw..." She tried a smile and pressed his hands against her lips again in a soothing manner, "You know as well as I do it’s...complicated with Dad. He's not like normal people." Beth held Jerry's gaze, "which is precisely why I married someone normal. I love you Jerry, and I love you because you're not dad." She was lying through her teeth, but she was also naked, and she hoped she was being convincing enough to entice Jerry back to bed so she could finally get some sleep.   


"Hate you!" Jerry sobbed, hunched over and trembling. "As, as if...!" With Beth holding his hands like that, kissing his fingers, it almost felt like he was being the one comforted - and although he had felt like the victim of the whole situation when Beth had been writhing and moaning around Rick's dick, now that he was up close and he could see her blistered bottom and puffy, red eyes, he was suddenly inclined to be a lot more understanding of her misfortune.   
  
"I, I love you so much, Beth," he cried, bending down to kiss her forehead, and her cheeks, and her hair.  And it was true - god, it was true. Sure, he'd been shocked and horrified at the relationship that seemed to have developed between Beth and her father, but more than that, he was simply jealous and saddened by the fact that some other man could evoke such ecstasy in Beth when the most he could hope for was a mild feeling of contentedness. She was his beautiful, beautiful wife, and as much as she'd been out of his league in high school, she was still out of his league even now. Her renewed, teenage body was only a reminder of that cold, hard fact.    
  
His erection was more of a distraction than a source of pleasure at that point, and he followed Beth's gaze distractedly, almost surprised by the sight of it. "That... oh, oh..." What could he say? Beth had sounded amazing, begging and moaning and crying... but perhaps more than that, he'd been thinking about being... being in her position? Surely that couldn't be right; if Rick ever tried anything of the sort on him, he'd fight back as hard as he could, threats of spankings be damned.   
  
"I'm sorry," he finally decided, for the fact that he was hard, and for the spanking he'd landed Beth, and for allowing her to be fucked by her own dad. He was sorry for all of it, and his tone of voice was genuine enough. "P-p-please, Beth, just..." and here he couldn't suppress a wet, sniveling sob, throwing himself on her body like a widow at a funeral, "please don't leeeaaave meeeeee..."   


"Oh Jerry,” Beth said the phrase kindly, but gave the ceiling an irritated look as her husband fell against her, weepy and upset—she really just wanted to go to bed. She shifted gently beneath him, wincing as her bottom made contact with the covers of the bed. With his right hand still held in  her own, she guided him down until his index finger was poised right at the top of her slit. A freaky little smile wound around her face; Beth loved manipulating Jerry even if she didn’t admit it out loud. When she pressed his fingers against her still-sticky, still-damp, still-dripping-her-dad’s-cum pussy, she exaggerated her moan and arched up, pressing her stomach into her husband, leaning her head back to expose her neck.   
  
“Ohhh, Jerry, w-would you—“ Beth turned her head to mouth at his graying temples and sprinkle little kisses across the side of his face, “Jerry, I want to feel you in me—make me forget about dad…”   
  
It was a gamble; but if it paid off, she’d finally get to go to sleep, and it had the added benefit of wrapping Jerry around her finger just a little bit more. Beth clung to him, as she ground into her husband—he felt familiar, and actually, after the strange savagery of her father, it felt a bit nice—and whispered sweet nothings against him.   
  
“Make love to me Jerry, please, you make me feel so good Jerry—so warm, so comforted—” Her pussy was so stretched to it’s limits that as Beth continued to shepherd his hand towards her pussy, his finger slid inside her without any effort. Beth breathed, hot and steamy against Jerry’s cheek, “Oh Jerr…oh, that’s good…”   


Jerry knew he had done wrong, and he knew he was currently being absolved of any and all sins he might have committed. He wasn't exactly sure what he had done wrong - just that he had wronged Beth, and that she was now kind enough to offer him a chance to redeem herself. Maybe he wouldn't lose his wife to her goddamn father just yet.   
  
"I love you," he sobbed, obediently fingering her, suppressing the urge to cringe at the horrible sticky feeling of Rick's cum inside her. "Oh god, Beth, I-I-I love you so much...!" He withdrew his hand, and (tearfully) pushed down his pajamas and his Y-fronts, revealing an entirely underwhelming hard-on. "I'll, I'll do anything for you," he babbled, "anything at all, okay? Just, just don't, don't ever, ever leave me, Beth..."   
  
He guided his dick into her with a trembling hand, bracing himself on his elbow. Finally he leaned down to press a sloppy line of open-mouthed kiss on Beth's neck, jaw, and eventually her mouth. His cheeks were wet with tears but the moment he slid into Beth's wet, welcoming pussy he moaned into her mouth all the same. How on Earth was she still this tight after being skewered on that massive cock? It was a good thing she was so slick with... well, with... with...   
  
Jerry made a concentrated effort not to think about Rick, as he proceeded to slowly, gently thrust in and out of his wife. The noises his cock made as it entered and pulled out of her her cum-dripping pussy were truly obscene; an odd juxtaposition with the look on his face, which was halfway between admiration and fear. "Anythiiiiing," he again promised, before squeezing his eyes shut. Today had been a little much for Jerry, and he was already on the brink of orgasm, his cock twitching insistently.   


Well, he didn't fill her out like Dad, but Jerry had his merits: he smelled better, his skin was smooth and taut over his teenaged body, Beth actually smiled, in high school his dorky track shorts had been so cute...she made a mental note to buy him a pair and make him wear them... But Jerry was almost endearing in his blubbering promises and declarations of love.   
  
"I know, honey--" Beth kissed him, her mouth tasting like herself, and her father, mingling against Jerry's tongue, "c'mon, Jer, ooohhh, y-you're, so good to me, honey," Beth breathed against him; she figured it was more authentic than moaning. His half-hearted thrusts felt good enough, but she was genuinely tired. As she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him deeper and make him finish faster, Beth closed her eyes and squeezed his shoulders, pouting her lips, giving him a show: "Oh, baabe..."   
  
She felt him shudder against her and she dug her nails in, "yeah, babe, fill me up--I-" Beth thrust her own hips up to meet his, "I want you to cum in, me, Jerry, I want you to--" she smirked at him, "smile for me, Jer, I didn't beg for my dad's spunk, but I'm begging for yours--c'mon, gimme what I want, honey!"   


Jerry tried so hard. He really, really did. He thought of long division, of baseball, of his dead grandma... but he couldn't hold out much longer, and he was about ready to follow Beth's command and shoot his load deep inside her when she just had to bring it up. Her dad's spunk? What the fuck? What the actual, horrifying fuck?   
  
He could no longer ignore the fact that the only reason his thrusts were so slick and lubricated was that Rick had come inside Beth literally minutes earlier. Suddenly he became much more aware of the smell of him on her, and while he had been close enough, the very image of Rick's greasy smirk directed his way as he ploughed his own daughter - Jerry's wife! - planted itself firmly in his mind, in much the same way Rick had planted himself in their lives and had fucked up anything good (or at least okay) they might have had going on before he showed up.   
  
He could feel his erection wilting despite him, still haunted by the image of Rick's face smirking at him, balls-deep inside Beth. He thrust into her half-heartedly, but with a rapidly softening dick there wasn't much he could do, and he finally pulled out, distraught and thoroughly emasculated. "Oh god, Beth," he sobbed, and covered his face in his hands.   


Beth for her part merely patted him gently and rolled over onto her stomach. Whatever, less of a mess to clean up. "Oh honey, don't worry," She gently reassured him, moving to the nightstand to fish out a tissue box. "You've had a very bad day--" she was bored now, and fell back on the falsely tender, slightly strained tone of voice she always used with him when she was comforting him for something dumb.    
  
Beth snatched tissues by the fistful, wiping off sweat and saliva and most importantly, the disgusting mess between her legs.  When she was sufficiently clean and dry, she hurled her trash, one rolled - up ball of nasty paper at a time, at the wastebasket, before placing her head on the pillow and snuggling beneath the blankets. She slung back the covers and gestured with her chin,    
  
"Let's go to sleep, Jer,"    
  
There was just the slightest edge of impatience on her voice as she laid down and got comfortable, sans pajamas.   


And Jerry, for his part, obediently crawled under the blankets. He couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, however - he wasn't even entirely sure why he was so upset. It wasn't like he'd never lost an erection before when he was Beth, and it definitely wasn't the first time he'd disappointed her (in bed or otherwise). Still, something about this particular night felt irrevocably broken, like he'd dropped a bowl and found all the pieces but one, and without that one piece there was no way in hell he could ever put the bowl back together.   
  
He snuggled up against Beth, too tired and distraught to do his usual awkward song-and-dance where he slowly inched towards her over the course of an hour. He pressed his chest against her naked back, his legs fitting perfectly against hers, and slung one arm over her to draw her even closer. He pressed his wet face against her hair, breathing in deeply - underneath all the depravity, and the new exterior, she was still his wife, and she still smelled like the same shampoo she'd always used.   
  
"I'm so sorry," he mumbled, "I'm so, I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." And this stream of apologies continued until he finally fell asleep, his head pounding.   



	6. Sit on My Face and Tell Me that You Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer wants a spanking, Rick wants some action, and the living room couch desperately wants a good deep cleaning.

Several days later, on an early lazy Sunday afternoon.

Summer lazily stretched her arms over her head as she slowly slouched downstairs in her pajamas. She could hear the TV in the living room and spotted the spikes of Grandpa Rick's hair over the side of the couch as she walked to the kitchen. On the fridge a note written on the back of a napkin read,

_-waffles on the table, your father and I are out today. xoxo-Mom_

The redhead found the waffles as described, half gone, doubtlessly from Morty. She texted him as she ate breakfast and sighed dramatically as he responded that he was at an SAT prep course all Saturday. Dropping her phone on the table with a loud clatter, and sticking her dishes in the sink, she left the kitchen and walked back into the living room. 

How boring to be left home alone. Well... mostly alone. She glanced at the back of Grandpa Rick's head as she leaned against the back of the couch with her forearms. He lounged on the couch, looking just as bored as her as Ball Fondlers reruns played.

"Uhh...Hey, Grandpa Rick, mind if I hang out with you...?"

Her eyes lingered over his long thighs stretched out over the couch cushion and smiled slightly to herself. Thank god she had worn cute pajamas to bed.

Rick glanced over at her, and for a moment his face betrayed his relief at the fact that he wasn't all alone in the house. He managed to get his features in check quickly enough, however, and his face turned back to its usual mask of nonchalant ennui. "Have at," he said, waving at the chair. "C-couch is mine. Sorry, Summer. I, I - eeuughhh - I don't make the rules." He smirked a little at his own joke. "Oh, heuughh - wait, I do."

They sat together for a few minutes, as the crocodile brutally eviscerated an entire village worth of North Korean soldiers. It was not one of the best episodes, and Rick had already seen it approximately three times. He turned to look at Summer, stretching his limbs like an especially big cat. "Y-you don't have anywhere to be?" he asked. "How about that, that... Christ, what's his name... Corey? Marley? Daley?" He sneered derisively. "Y-y'know, you sure... you sure date some kids with dumb-ass names, Summer."

He quirked an eyebrow at her pajamas. Not many of the Smiths spent too much time in pajamas anymore, as they'd quickly learned that when it came to impromptu spankings, it was better to be wearing jeans than anything flimsier. Then again, Summer had not gotten her ass handed to her after that one time, back when they first started this arrangement...

Summer shrugged as she stared forward at the TV. "It's not my fault their parents gave them stupid names." She smirked as she kept her eyes forward, "it's cute you keep track of my shitty love life, Grandpa Rick," She swung her head to sneak a toothy grin at him as she teased the old man in a sing-song voice, "I didn't know you caaaared--"

Chuckling, she turned her attention back to the TV but not before subtly squeezing her thighs together. Grandpa Rick seemed less drunk than usual, and the sobriety made him seem oddly dangerous, oddly... sexy. Her thoughts wandered to the memory of his face squished between her mother's legs, and Summer suddenly chewed her lip. Lucky bitch. Still...they were home alone, maybe that'd work in her favor.

Rick frowned as he realized the truth of that - had he really been keeping track of Summer's endless parade of asshole boyfriends? It hadn't been a conscious decision, for sure... but it seemed that part of his genius brain had seen fit to dedicate itself to storing information about Summer's love life.

"Cute, huh?" he said, voice low. "C-c-can't say anyone, anyone's ever called me cute, Summer." He had now abandoned all pretense that he was at all focused on the TV, and he let his gaze wander down her shapely legs. Was she flirting with him? Jesus, and so ham-fistedly too... Then again there was a certain charm to that teenage forwardness.

"Hey, Summer?" His tone was deliberately neutral, but a hint of a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "Did y-y-you - eeughh - start lusting after your granddad's dick after you watched me eat out your mom, or have y-you been, been entertaining these fantasies for a whiiiile?"

Summer snickered, but felt her cheeks get hot. Grandpa Rick's gravelly voice directed entirely at her affected her more than she wanted to admit. "You've never been called cute, Grandpa Rick?" She turned now, leaning against the back of her chair, her red hair tumbling over her shoulders. She paused and then continued in a smooth, even voice, "Oh, and no one says, 'lusting' anymore Grandpa Rick, but yeah, maybe I have a little...how long have you been waiting for me to fuck up so you can spank me, huh?" 

She kept her tone teasing, she didn't want to make her grandfather cross, an all-too-easy thing to accidentally do. Summer couldn't help it though...she inherited her mother's feisty spirit. But she had also inherited her grandfather's keen eye, and she had caught him checking her ample ass out on more than one occasion.

"Why, Summerrrrrr," Rick slurred, sitting up a bit straighter. This morning was becoming a lot more interesting all of a sudden, and he could feel blood rushing into his cock. "A, a guy might think y-you're actually asking for a spanking." He got up and walked over to her, steady enough on his feet, and tilted his head.

He had definitely instituted the new disciplinary rules in the Smith household because he was sick and tired of them consistently making his life harder, putting themselves in danger, and generally screwing around. But he'd be lying if he didn't admit that he also just enjoyed spanking people - and Summer, his daughter's daughter, with that bouncy ass of hers and that typical teenage attitude... Summer was definitely the kind of person he loved to get his hands on.

He folded his arms, squinting down at her, trying to see if she was just playing around or if she was for real. "Well, a-are you, Summer? Y-y-you, eeeughhh - you know, good girls get what they ask for..."

Summer's mouth watered slightly and she swallowed hard, her eyes focused on her grandfather's powerful-looking arms crossed before his chest. The redhead twirled a strand of hair around her finger and squeezed her thighs again. Shit...was she really about to...and could she even handle it...?

"Well..." Summer turned on her sultriest voice, even though she knew full well her Grandpa Rick's decades of experience probably made it sound less sultry and more silly, "I haven't actually like, gotten one from you yet, so," Summer drew her eyes up to meet his, "I admit I've just had my imagination lately..."

She smiled; slow, catlike, with the naughty flirtatiousness every teenage girl is naturally good at, but kept her tone bored and nonchalant: "That's why I'm not with any of my little boyfriends this weekend I guess..." She stared up at him beneath her eyelashes, "I guess I’m looking for something _stronger_..."

A greasy smirk spread on Rick's face, and he licked at his teeth. Still he didn't make a move, simply looking down at Summer like some horribly perverted parody of a paternal figure. "S-so coyyyy, Summer... y-you're gonna, gonna have to - eeughh - be a bit clearer than that with your ol' grandpa if you want something from me."

With that, he leaned forward, bracing his hands on the armrests. His face was mere inches away from Summer's, the familiar smell of alcohol and sour breath surrounding him, and he raised an eyebrow at her, breathing in deeply. God, she smelled amazing - fresh out of bed, that deliciously sweet, earthy smell that only teenage girls seemed to have.

How lucky he was to have all these Smiths so desperate for his cock. He'd been with so many people - humans, sure, but even more alien life forms - and still somehow he couldn't help but come back to these family members of his. It had been fucking great when he first started messing around with Morty, but now he had Beth desperate for a good, hard dicking at all times, and Summer eager just to get her ass beaten by him. It was enough to get his blood pumping.

Summer tried not to be flustered but Grandpa Rick's enormous presence just inches away, she couldn't help it. With a nervous little giggle she shrank into the couch a bit, half in retreat, half in a twisted desire to make him chase after her. She badly wanted a spanking -- the realization itself made her blush; but to ask for one? Would he give her a hard spanking? Summer looked at him quizzically for a moment. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained right?

"Fine...I...want....I want a spanking..b-but," She pouted slightly, "I didn't like, mess up or anything so you won't um...Y-you won't put me in that machine thing, I want to be spanked by you..."

"Theeeeeere we go," Rick crooned, putting a calloused hand on her cheek, affectionately rubbing at her cheekbone with his thumb. "Wh-what you're, what you're - eeeuughh - asking for is a _good girl spanking,_ Summer - and I, I'll happily give you one." He sat down on the couch and patted his lap. For a moment he considered having her over his knee, but he figured Summer really did deserve a bit of a treat after that first, terrifying punishment - lying down over his lap, supported by the sofa, ought to make this a bit more comfortable.

"Make no mistake," he said matter-of-factly, "y-you're gonna be in tears before, before we're done here, Summer... but I assuuuuuuure you that if you take your spanking like a, like a good girl," he again smirked that smarmy half-smirk, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, "I'll make it worth your while." 

Not hiding his less-than-honorable intentions any longer, he let his eyes travel over her body. Those hips and that ass suggested there'd be quite a bit of ground to cover, and he almost salivated at the idea that he'd get to turn that beautiful ass cherry red. God, these Smith girls were gonna put him in an early(ish) grave.

Summer got up and shuffled over, nerves jumping, sweat pooling on the nape of her neck. The ominous promise that she'd still cry whether or not this was a punishment was disconcerting, but how bad could it be? Grandpa Rick seemed oddly game to have her over his lap although--Summer squirmed beneath his gaze while his eyes hungrily drank her in as she walked over; what a perv. But as she stood beside him she considered, she was too.

After a brief hesitation, she leaned forward and slowly crawled across his lap, resting her head on her crossed arms on the couch cushion, her legs stretched out behind her and her ass pushed high up over Grandpa Rick's lap. He felt warm and solid beneath her, and something about being so physically close and completely vulnerable with her grouchy elder made Summer's pussy slick. Grandpa Rick's lewd suggestion that he'd make it worth her while if she took her spanking well was intriguing, but also frustrating; Summer remembered how bad the machine had been and was worried she'd feel like reaching back. Just in case, she grabbed a pillow from the couch and held it close.

For having asked for this, Summer was decidedly flustered, but out of pride tried to play it cool. If Morty could deal with this on a semi regular basis then so could she! "Okay, I'm… I think I'm ready, Grandpa Rick..."

"Good," Rick said, and expertly began to spank her over her pajamas. He kept a steady rhythm - swat, pause, swat, pause, swat, pause, rub. "Th-this is a warm-up," he explained. "That - eeuugghh - that way we can keep going for, for a _loooot_ longer." His other hand, which had rested on the small of her back, now crept up her spine until it finally arrived at the nape of her neck. Playing with her hair, he hummed contentedly - even while still clothed, her ass had a truly mesmerizing jiggle to it. After a few dozen swats - certainly not as hard as he was capable of, but hard enough to make any bottom blush - he paused, and firmly rubbed her ass, massaging away the sting.

"Y-you're doing great, baby," he grinned. "Keep it up and, and y-you'll get that reward. How are you, how are you ffffeeuugh-feeling anyway?" After one final pat to her ass, he slid down her pajama pants to reveal some particularly enticing panties. "Look at you," he cooed, "all dressed up for grandpa... w-well, it's, it's appreciated."

Which was true enough - underneath that wiggling teenage body, he was already half-erect. He could probably abandon the entire affair and just hoist her over the armrest to fuck her right now, but that would mean going back on his promise to drive her to tears - not really his style. So, with a wistful sigh, he continued his hand spanking - faster now, and harder too, but still with those intermittent pauses where he simply rubbed her bottom and twirled her hair in his fingers with uncharacteristic affection.

"Ooooh! umm--w-warm, I guess-" another stinging swat smacked into her, and Summer groaned sweetly as Grandpa Rick's huge hand rubbed the burn in. This was an entirely different feeling than being strapped down in a metal machine. The sensation of being held, the way her grandfather's hand felt against her as his calloused palm rubbed her down, even the way her groin subtly ground against his thigh, made the entire experience warm and exhilarating and… oddly comforting?

The redhead sighed as her hair was gently played with but sucked in a hard breath as her pants were pushed down, and Grandpa Rick’s massive hand swatted harder and faster over her panties. His indication that she'd be over his lap for "a lot longer," was thrilling as much as it was a cause of worry. Summer really wanted to be good and earn that promised reward. 

Summer crossed her legs at the ankles in an effort to keep from kicking as her ass was steadily spanked. The intermittent pauses for sweet rubbing and the hand smoothed in her hair went a long way toward making this little trip over Grandpa Rick’s lap enjoyable, but at the end of the day, his hard hand was still smacking away determinedly, and Summer was beginning to truly feel the burn. "Ahhh-ouuch--" she arched her back in surprise at a hard swat and dug her fingers into the couch as she writhed over his knee. Summer could feel her damp panties stick against her skin as she wiggled, but figured it was nothing Grandpa Rick hadn't seen before. 

"I didn't, ahhnn--d-didn't expect this to feel so--like, g-good?" Summer turned her head slightly, "I mean it hurts," She felt like she should reassure him of that lest he go harder, "B-but I um...it--oohh! It, y-yeah..." Summer finished lamely. It was too difficult to put words to what she was feeling, and anyway, he was beginning to spank harder, and in between gasping for breath, there wasn't much room for coherent conversation.

Rick was mildly surprised that Summer was taking her spanking as well as she was - sure, he was going easy on her (or at least easier than he would have had this been a punishment) but he recalled the fit she threw while strapped in his spanking machine. Then again, she'd clearly been craving that bit of personal attention from him even then, so perhaps it hadn't so much been the spanking that had had her in tears as the knowledge that he hadn't deemed her worthy of his time.

"See, the - the thing is, Summer," Rick said, in a jovial tone which was entirely unlike the voice he usually reserved for spankings, "I-I can make your life a-a lot worse, but I, I can also make it a lot better." Here he paused his spanking to rub at the wet crotch of her panties, smirking to himself. "I-I'm sure Morty told you something to that effect - and at - eeuughh - at any rate, you seem to be enjoying yourself." He pressed against her crotch more insistently, his index finger slipping between her still-covered labia. He took his time to tease her a bit more before withdrawing his hand and giving her an especially firm smack.

The moment his fingers slipped between her chubby thighs to tease at her crotch, Summer knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, her grandfather was about to ruin all men for her. With just a few gentle touches she was already almost in a frenzy, squirming in response to those deliciously experienced fingers touching her. She groaned, long and deep, pressing herself up to meet his fingers while squeezing her body in closer against his torso, desperate to feel him more.

His mention of her brother drew her thoughts back to that strange, depraved afternoon, and she flushed; Morty had couched much of his praise in words like brutal, and rough, so Summer tried to mentally prepare for a bit of meanness, but thus far, while Grandpa Rick was his usual snarky, asshole self, it was nothing like she imagined. There were actually moments where he was...tender to her.

"Panties down," he announced, but before he'd pulled her panties down all the way, he paused. "Before I, before I continue, Summer - I can leave these around y-your ankles, and that'll make it a bit easier to keep y-yourself from kicking like a little girl... or I can take them off. Y-your choice." His tone was deliberately neutral, but there was definitely a right answer to the question.

She cooed as his fingers slipped beneath the waist of her panties and the sticky scrap of fabric was dragged down her legs. Summer pondered his question. Kicking was sure to get her in extra trouble, but still, she wasn't a little girl. The redhead shivered slightly, "take them all the way off--" she paused, but then remembered before her grandfather could comment, "--sir...I won't kick. Well," She turned her head to glance behind her, "I will really try hard not to kick."

Plus, Summer internally reasoned, with her panties completely off, maybe that'd put Grandpa Rick in more of a sexy mood and less of a spanky one...not that Summer wasn't enjoying herself.

"Mmm," Rick nodded solemnly, "right answer. I-I guess you really do deserve a good girl spanking, huh." And with that, he slid both her panties and her pajama pants off of her legs, and unceremoniously dumped them on the floor. "Next time," he said, his hand once more massaging her practically glowing ass, which was well on its way to turning red, "next time I-I'll have you take off your top before we get started..." His free hand slipped under her chest, to roughly squeeze one of her tits. "N-nothing like a naked girl to get... to get the, the engine purring." In case she hadn't cottoned on to his meaning just yet, he shifted on the sofa, pressing the bulge in his pants against her in the process.

Summer rolled her eyes at his comment and privately promised herself she'd make certain to keep her top on next time if only to prove her condescending grandfather wrong. When he pressed his bulge up into her however, she felt her eyes widen. Holy fuck he was huge.

Without the barrier her panties had presented, Rick slid one long index finger into her - teasingly, and he withdrew it soon after. He held up the glistening digit and peered at it as if examining a microscope slide, before grinning toothily down at the squirming girl over his lap - not entirely unlike a shark. "So filthy," he said, before sticking the finger in his mouth and drawing it out again with a wet pop. "L-let's hope you stay that wet until it's time for your reward, baby."

He squeezed her ass roughly and bent towards her, pulling her up by her hair in a way that was especially painful after his more tender ministrations earlier. "And do keep calling me sssir," he hissed, "grandpa _looooves_ that."

And, with her hair still in his vice grip, he continued her spanking - for real, now that both her pajamas and her panties were gone. His swats came fast and hard, and there were no small moments of reprieve where he paused and rubbed her sore behind. Still he did her one small kindness and focused most of his swats on the roundest part of her ass, avoiding her more tender thighs almost entirely.

Summer felt infinitely exposed as her pants and panties were discarded, leaving her mostly naked, draped over her grandfather's knee, ass in the air, and in the middle of the living room on a Sunday no less! 

His index finger had pulled a sweet little gasp and a breathy, disbelieving, "Grandpa Rick!" as she groaned against him. He removed it all too soon and then began spanking her earnestly. The hand in her hair tugged firmly, and her bottom was steadily beaten into a crescendo of hot pain. 

Summer's gasps and groans peppered against the sounds of spanking became more frequent until every swat prompted an audible reaction, and soon she was sniffling over his lap, trying desperately to hang on. She didn't want to cry, but it didn't look like she had a choice. Perhaps her elder sensed her resistance, because a few startlingly hard smacks in succession surprised her into moaning, "owwwhooo-hoo-hoo, G-gran-pa--" And the first tears fell.

She wasn't being spanked especially fiercely, but it hurt and stung, and as the first tears started, Summer was soon squirming and clutching the couch in white knuckled hands as she was firmly put in her place over Grandpa Rick's lap.

Summer's symphony of sobs was just the kind of thing Rick wanted to hear. He eased up a little on her hair, but continued his spanking with renewed effort. "D-does that hurt, baby?" he said. "J-just because y-you're not being punished doesn't mean you - eeuughh - get off easy." He snickered, and after one more smack to her by now bright red bottom, folded his arms and rested them on her back.

"Y-you're doing so well," he said, and he didn't even have to fake the pride in his voice. Summer really was taking her spanking like a champ - crying and squirming, but not reaching back or kicking even once. "Just to - eeuughh - be clear, we're not, we're not done yet... but I-I-I figured I'd give you a little break." He sat up again, and roughly squeezed Summer's hot behind, relishing the feeling of his handiwork combined with her luscious ass. "I-I know this y-you're supposed to get a reward, but f-f-fffffucking hell, Summer, grandpa would love to, just love to fuck that ass of yours. Maybe some other time, huh?"

The praise, spoken honestly, unabashedly, shot straight to Summer’s heart, and she trembled across his lap, thrilled that she was doing well, and eager to please her grandfather. And the unconcealed admiration of her ass was just icing on the cake. He'd surely seen thousands of sterling examples of the naked female form, the fact that hers was enough to made him hunger after her was boost to her ego. 

His finger slid across her sopping wet pussy once more, and he used her own juices to push his index finger in her ass to the first joint, just enough to give her a little taste. "Jesus, th-th-that's tight... has anyone even fucked this yet?" he laughed. "I figured those deadbeat boyfriends of yours would be, would be into a little backdoor action..." He pulled the finger out, and gently rubbed her clit. "Don't worry, baby... grandpa's gonna make sure you have a good time, too."

She arched into him as he played with her pussy again, but couldn't hold back the high pitched yelp. She'd played with her own butt before but hadn't let anyone else yet, and Grandpa Rick's bold finger was a shock and a half. She didn't answer his question; somehow he made it seem embarrassing that she was still a virgin when it came to anal, but good god, the idea of him taking her virginity there. Summer pushed her mouth into the couch cushion to muffle her moan, fuck, that would be so painful and so good...she found herself immediately wishing for it. 

Suddenly the subtle pressure at her clit was gone, and his hand smacked down once more. "But first, w-w-we're gonna finish what we started here. Hey, Summer - while I, while I do that - eeuughh - why don't you tell me just how much you looooove your ol' grandpa, huh...?" Charitably, he slowed down his pace a little to allow her to catch his breath so she could actually talk.

"Yeoowww-ahh-oh-oh god--"

In response to Rick’s request Summer would've growled if she didn't think it'd turn this playful lesson into a serious one. Grandpa Rick really loved to twist the metaphorical knife; he must know, he _had_ to know how much she adored him...how jealous she was of the attention he lavished on Morty. Summer pouted into the couch. Motherfucker was so unfair. But the steady swats behind her compelled her to cooperate anyway, and so the redhead tearfully, honestly complied:

"Ahh-howww-f-fine! E-even though--ouuwww-y-you probably already know, Grandpa Rick, I--yeowch!" She paused and caught her breath as his swats slowed slightly, but didn't decrease in force, "I really -ahh- really love you Grandpa Rick, like, ahhouch, y-you're always with Morty even though I pr-probably like you better than he does--" her jealousy peeked through, and Summer blushed, "ahh, god--I l-love you so-s-so stupid much I've been wanting this for like, weeks!"

Rick's hand stopped immediately. He'd definitely clued in to the fact that Summer had been aching for a spanking, and he'd caught all her none-too-subtle attempts at checking him out. He was not at all surprised that he had so quickly reduced her to a wet, squirming mess just by spanking her and playing with her pussy a little bit - but he was surprised that she had apparently been so scorchingly jealous of _Morty_.

He needed Morty - of course because he enjoyed fucking the life out of him, and because he was his grandson whom he (albeit reluctantly) loved, but also because there was a very real necessity to have a Morty around at all times to shield himself from anyone who might wish him and his genius brain real harm (a category that, naturally, included a lot of people). The fact that he spent less time with Summer really was a compliment, in a way - she was a bit too smart to use as a human shield. But of course - and here he couldn't help but sigh - she'd been jealous. From the sound of it, she'd been jealous long before she found out that he fucked Morty on a semi-regular basis, and long before he started their current spanking arrangement.

That was the real unexpected part of all this, and he felt a pang of guilt. He really did have a soft spot for Summer, and now that he was home a bit more to enforce his strict rules, he found he really did enjoy spending time around her.

"F-f-fucking hell, Summer," he said, a bit grouchier than he felt, "needy much?" But any scathing effect that comment might have had was quickly undone when he hoisted Summer up and positioned her so that she was straddling his crotch, and promptly pressed his dry, chapped lips to her face, kissing her tear-stained cheeks.

Finding herself in her grandfather's lap was a tremendous surprise, but the swift kisses to her face were an astonishment. Summer pressed herself against his body, crushing her breasts into his chest, her thin fingers grabbing around his neck. Her ass throbbed painfully and she whimpered as one hand slinked down to softly touch her skin in amazement. It was blazingly hot and tender to the touch--if she ever did let Rick take her anal virginity, she sincerely hoped it wouldn't be right after a spanking. 

She could feel his pants-covered bulge beneath her pussy and shamelessly ground down on it, a fevered groan eeking out of her as she did. 

"Fffuck--Grandpa Rick--" she dragged her hands up into his hair and breathed in the way he smelled; foul. But she loved it anyway, and opened her legs wider, arching her back and leaning her head back, exposing her neck, opening herself to him in every sense of the word. 

"I'd--I'd do anything for you Grandpa Rick," She breathily admitted, and then flushed in embarrassment as she pulled back to look at him.

"Anything, huh?" Rick panted, intoxicated by this young, supple body writhing against him. "Y-y-you gotta promise me, Summer - I, I gotta be the one who... who... who gets to fuck that ass for the first time." His hands found her ass and squeezed, both to remind her of what he was capable of and to show possession. "Not now, but you gotta - you gotta promise your grandpa you won't let anyone fuck that - that tight little tail of yours, okay? N-not fffffucking, fucking _Corey_ , not y-your brother - only your grandpa Rick."

The thought of taking his granddaughter's anal virginity was enough to get him fully hard, and he bucked his hips up against Summer, grunting appreciatively - he could feel how soaking wet she was even through his pants, and it felt fucking amazing. He definitely still had it. Just look at the effect he was having on this beautiful girl - his own flesh and blood, no less.

He put his hands on her cheeks and pulled her in for a possessive kiss - all bad breath and teeth and groans, but his fingers stroked and massaged her scalp with a tenderness that belied the way he kissed her. When he finally pulled away, he was a little out of breath, and an uncharacteristic blush had spread on his face. Keeping up with these teenagers was a work-out and a half, Christ.

"I-I promise!!” Summer whimpered against him; both dreamily excited and terribly worried about when she’d have to own up to that promise at a later date, “I promise you’ll be first, ahh—“ The way he grabbed her ass as she promised made her certain that it was something she absolutely could not back out on so it might behoove her to start stretching herself out now while in the shower since given the bulge she could feel rubbing up against her, taking Grandpa Rick up the ass would be a challenge. And then he kissed her, and although he tasted absolutely wretched, Summer felt the kiss buzz all the way to her toes as she shivered at the affectionate touch. What had Morty been talking about!? Sure, he was a fair bit more rough than her other boytoys, and sure this kind of warmth was only happening after a hard spanking, but there was nothing brutal about the way he just kissed her, the way he held her firmly, her bare skin in his hard hands, chubby flesh squeezed between his fingers as he grasped her so tightly she feared she’d have little bruised imprints of his fingers everywhere…not that she minded.

"Time for, for your reward," he panted as he pulled away from the kiss. "And I-I'll be honest - the plan was to bend you over the couch and fuck y-you - eeuughh - silly, but I-I think you deserve a little more than that, huh?" He helped her off of his lap, and lay down on the sofa. "Park that cunt of yours on my face," he groaned, "or - or your ass, if y-you feel like getting _freeeaaaky_... grandpa's feeling charitable."

After he helped her off his lap and lay down, she climbed up onto the couch on top of him, slowly crawling her way on her hands and knees over him, her bra-less breasts swinging like pendulums in her thin shirt as she positioned herself over him. Summer found it oddly satisfying, in a vengeful, petty sort of way that the same man who had strapped her into a corporal punishment machine, the same man who had threatened so many ass-blisterings over the past couple weeks she had lost count, the same man who regularly used his rotten mouth to dish out the meanest of insults was now planted firmly between her legs as she towered over him. As he instructed, Summer slid both knees onto the couch cushion and before she could second-guess herself, promptly lowered herself onto the Sanchez patriarch’s face. Her thighs were so wide they squished his cheeks and only the parts of his visage that were now visible were the sharp point of his nose cresting over her mound, and the middle of his unibrow. As she gazed down at him, enraptured, Summer wished she could snap a picture of the way Grandpa Rick looked, face stuffed into her crotch, the neatly trimmed, bright red landing strip of her mostly-shaved pubic hair pointing a direct line down to his mouth. As Summer clutched the couch for support, one of her final coherent thoughts were Morty was either an idiot, or Grandpa Rick was even more difficult to predict that either of them thought, because this was certainly not the rough fucking she’d been prepared for…this was much, much better.

Rick groaned at the sight of his curvy granddaughter crawling over him - the things he could (and would!) do to that body could fill an exceptionally nasty book. He resisted the urge to teasingly pull at her nipples - this position was all about submission, and he was more than happy to give Summer a little taste of what it felt like to take what you wanted. Still, when she was finally in position, he wiggled his arms free to rest his hands on her ass, long fingers massaging and rubbing the hot, sore flesh.

She smelled amazing. Rick had a soft spot for oral, but he wasn't one of those people who enjoyed the taste of it - it was more about the effect he could have on his partner. Clearly he'd just been with the wrong pussies, because the moment Summer sat down and he felt that wet cunt on his face, he knew he'd never be able to get enough of her. She smelled like sweat, and bedsheets after a good night's sleep, and a little tart (heh - pun intended). What the fuck had he been missing out on all those years? This perfect specimen had been right under his nose, and he hadn't ever known...

Well, he wasn't here to introspect, was he? He felt oddly constricted by the position - not so much because he could hardly move, but because he couldn't tell Summer what to do. He breathed in deeply through his nose, and opened his mouth to run the flat of his tongue along her slick entrance - and again, and again, setting a languorous, reliable rhythm.

His cock strained against his pants, and he wondered if he could get hot enough by eating out his granddaughter to come in his pants. It'd had been decades since anything of the sort had happened, but he'd been ready to bust just when he was spanking her, and now she was writhing on top of him, and he could hardly breathe... Christ. He moaned appreciatively, before finally dipping his tongue into her, resuming his steady rhythm, his tongue undulating inside her.

Squeezing the back of the couch in one hand, Summer let the other drift to her chest, where she gently cupped one breast in her palm and rolled her nipple between her thumb and forefinger as she was thoroughly, expertly eaten out. On the one hand, it was a shame that no one would ever tongue fuck her as good as she was getting it right now…on the other hand, evidently Rick was a secret pussy-munching maven, and literally lived in her home.

“Ohhh god, G-grandpa—“

Summer huffed above him, still staring down at him beneath her crotch, arching into the feeling of getting licked. His hands on her ass alternated between hard squeezes and gentle, loving rubs, and the dual sensations pushed Summer closer to the edge as she felt her skin flush and prickle with goosebumps. Good god, if she didn’t already have a bad crush on Grandpa Rick, she certainly did now. Noisily appreciative of that wicked tongue sliding back and forth against her, Summer yelped even louder as it actually entered her, thicker than Grandpa Rick’s fingers but slicker. Summer couldn’t help the way her body reacted to the intrusion and rocked against his mouth, humping gently into his face as she groaned sweetly before catching herself and backing off a bit, bracing one trembling hand against her thick thigh, murmuring breathless apologies, “Sssorry, sorry, Grandpa, mmm…d-didn’t, m-mean to, ohh!” His tongue darted inside again, and she couldn’t help herself, once more she rutted against him, her throbbing cunt begging for more.

“Fffuck, fuck, oh my god—“

Summer didn’t know what to do with her fidgety hands—she had half a mind to tangle one hand in the blue hair jutting out between her legs and pull hard, crushing his face against her. Summer grinned to herself at the thought of suffocating him slightly with her thighs…maybe one day she’d strap him into some ridiculous contraption, if only so she could ride his face and abuse his hair to her heart’s content. She shivered at the idea of what his retribution would be if she ever did something like that to him…

Her idle hands roamed her own body as Summer relished both the oral service and her dirty fantasies about her grandfather, rubbing her thighs and hips, absentmindedly playing with her dangling belly button piercing, dipping into her low cut shirt and pulling her breasts out to smooth her palms back and forth against her soft skin.

“God, Grandpa Rick I’ve –mmnnn—n-never, hahh—never b-been eaten out so good…I’m gonna f-fucking think a-about this for weeks.” As the words left her mouth, she groaned—somehow even though she was the one on top, Grandpa Rick was still somehow in complete control, and evidently being under her grandfather’s control like this made Summer a little too honest.

Luckily for Summer (and probably for Rick as well), Rick was more than a little fond of some breathplay. Being smothered by her luscious thighs wasn't so much a disadvantage as a perk of the job, and he petted her ass softly - the best way to communicate don't worry about it, dawg that he had at his disposal with his mouth occupied.

And occupied it was; the more vocal Summer became, the more spirited Rick proceeded to eat her out. Above him, he relished the sight of Summer exploring her own body in that hungry, awkward way that teenagers had. The idea of Summer rubbing her clit to this memory for weeks to come was certainly a pleasant one, and he hummed appreciatively, jamming his tongue inside her as deep as it would go, licking her walls lasciviously, slurping her down like he was at an all-you-can-shove-in-your-mouth buffet.

After this little detour he finally tilted his chin up to lavish some attention on her swollen clit. He looked up at her and winked before groaning deeply. She looked absolutely breath-taking like this, and although he knew he couldn't do this with her too often or she'd quickly grow too big for her britches, he made a mental note to revisit the experience at least once more... maybe he could even convince her to restrain him and ride his face like a sybian.

That image had him moaning in earnest, and he bucked up his hips before he could catch himself. His hands on her ass trembled as he tried to regain control. He knew that if he got too carried away with fantasies, he'd just abandon the endeavor and fuck her until she couldn't walk right - but that wouldn't be fair. He'd made her a promise, and after that torturous session with his machine, she'd earned a little TLC from him anyway.

Summer felt her grandfather buck up, and felt his hands shake subtly against her ass. If she wasn’t so breathless, she would’ve snickered. Out of the entire family, the person most similar to the patriarch himself might’ve been Summer, and true to form, she couldn't resist a little mild teasing as she ground into his face as her clit was lapped at by an energetic tongue.

“N-nice to see—mmm—that I’m not the only one enjoying myself, Grandpa Rick—“ Her hand meandered backward, and she leaned back, arching her spine slightly until she reached his bulging crotch. Her fingers ghosted over his throbbing package and a thin whine trailed from her mouth as she felt out the outline of his cock. The girth was oddly familiar—it reminded her of Morty, but Grandpa Rick was thicker, longer, and judging by the slightly damp spot her ring finger brushed against, already leaking precum into his pants. Nice.

Leaning back up, Summer’s thighs trembled around the face between her legs as she struggled to hold back her orgasm. When was the next time this would happen? Never? She wanted to enjoy it as long as possible…but the animated tongue thrusting into her (how was that even possible?) worked its magic, and with a fevered grunt of appreciation, Summer hunched over, bracing her hands on her thighs, “F-fuck, I’m—Grandpa I’m gonna—” But before she could get through her announcement, her orgasm washed over her, and she shuddered on top of him, her pussy clenching in ecstasy as his tongue still slithered against her.

Rick rewarded her magnanimous ministrations at his crotch by sighing contentedly and continuing his licks and flicks at her clit with doubled efforts. Her hand was gone much too soon, and he could only barely keep himself from throwing her off of him and fucking her right then and there - only by focusing on that eventual sweet, sweet moment of sinking his cock deep inside her virgin ass could he keep his patience and continue the task at hand.

As Summer quivered and came on top of him, he let up a little - but the moment her orgasm subsided, he continued with renewed vigor, relishing her wetness. He seemed quite as content to lap up her juices as he usually was sipping his flask, and he took in her flushed face, feeling an unexpected wave of affection. She was so fucking into him... and even if she hadn't been gorgeous, that alone would've been enough to get him going.

He wiggled his eyebrow at her suggestively as he continued eating her out, the wet, lewd sounds of his wet tongue against her damp pussy sounding especially out of place in the Smith's typical suburban living room.

“Grandpa I—“ Summer huffed on top of him, still reeling from her orgasm, trembling and groaning as she reached back again to palm at his crotch, blindly fumbling with the buckle of his belt—her pussy clenched as she felt the cool metal against her fingertips, reminded of what Morty said about getting belted— “C-can we like, I-I mean, th-this is fucking amazing, but like—“

His tongue slurped up against her clit once again, and Summer shuddered at the feeling, one hand braced on her thigh and the other finally popping the buckle open behind her and partially pulling off his belt, as she struggled to express herself. Getting fucked by Morty from behind and feeling his hips slap against her abused ass had been heavenly. And although getting eaten out like this was thrilling, there was just something about having this angry, elderly, drunk old man looming over her that she couldn’t help but lust after that feeling of being dominated. Of being controlled. Even owned.

Summer gingerly pushed up from his still-sucking mouth, and more gracefully than she thought she could, slid her leg down the side of his body as she turned around. Twisting with a little wink, she grazed her hand down his stomach, reaching his crotch, flicked her thumb and forefinger to undo the button to his fly, and with a neat little tug, unzipped the front in less than a second. She crawled down to the other end of the sofa, and tossed her red hair over her shoulder as she bent over the opposite arm of the couch, looking back at her grandfather with unconcealed desire.

“You um…said that the plan was to like, bend me over the couch and—“ Summer lowered her eyes, “and I’d hate to mess up your plans…” one hand wandered behind her to clutch the chubby, pale skin of the back of her thigh and pull back, showing off her pussy, her fingers digging into her own skin as her fat bulged between the spaces of her fingers, “I mean…if that’s okay…”

A violent shudder went through Rick as he painfully hoisted himself up into a seated position. Had all these Smiths always been so slutty? Where the fuck had they even picked up tricks like this? Still, with a grunt he got to his knees, and surveyed Summer's backside with a smirk on his wet, shining lips. He licked his upper lip lewdly, swallowing down the residue of the time Summer had spent on his face, and whipped out his cock - her surprisingly deft way of taking care of his pants for him had left his thick, veiny cock throbbing.

A sopping wet girl asking for a good, hard fuck - who was he to say no?

"You selfish little bitch," he grinned. "Grandpa eats you... eats you out so good, and it's still not enough?" He stroked himself languidly, tilting his head back to properly savor the sight of her, desperate for his dick. "Take off your top," he commanded. "A-and if you want grandpa's cock so badly, you better beg for it... y-you already - eeuughhh - got your reward, so this is extra..."

He briefly considered taking off his sweater, but then decided he quite liked the fact that she'd be entirely naked and he'd be almost fully clothed. A good way to put people in their place, he found. Almost as good as getting them to cry and beg for you to stick it in them.

Summer leaned up on her knees, her back still facing her grandfather as she hooked her hands under the hem of her shirt and smoothly pulled it off, her red hair cascading down her naked back while she tossed her shirt to the floor. Turning partially to glance at Grandpa Rick (and to show off her breasts, might as well, since they were out now), Summer pinched her nipples as she met his eyes, “Please fuck me, Grandpa Rick.” 

Leaning back over the arm of the chair, Summer wiggled her hips slightly, the subtle movement was enough to make her entire ass jiggle, and she grinned to herself, knowing he was watching. Her hands grabbed her thighs again, just under her butt, to pull back, so he could see her asshole too—god, she couldn’t wait for him to fuck her there even though it was a terrifying prospect, “Sorry for being greedy, but please Grandpa, I w-want your cock, please, I really—I’ve been feening for you to fuck my cunt till I cry—“

As she said it, Summer squirmed, knowing that Grandpa Rick would absolutely take her up on that challenge, but she couldn’t help it. Summer yearned for Grandpa Rick to use her as he would—perhaps that was the encouragement he needed? “P-please, I don’t deserve your dick, but I want it, Grandpa—“ And calling him ‘grandpa’ on top of everything else, was just making her wetter, making her blush harder, Summer enunciated the word each time it left her mouth, relishing the despicably dirty way it felt against her tongue.

Rick's lip curled into something that might very well have been a sneer at that last admission of Summer's. Goddammit, this girl could beg. "Y-you're goddamn right you don't deserve it," he hissed, but he was upon her in an instant anyway, pressing his chest against her back, one hand slung around her to grope her supple breasts. He took hold of his cock with the other, and positioned the tip against her asshole, slurring in her ear: "You want grandpa to make you cryyyyyy, huh? Y-you suuuuure about that, Summer? I-I know you've been rubbing that slutty cunt of yours to the thought of grandpa's fat cock splitting you open, but it wouldn't be any fun at all if I just jammed it in there, lemme - lemme tell you."

He pressed forward just a little - her ass was much too tight for him to just slip in, but the threat that he would push and push until she tore was very much there. "Use y-yyyour blood for lube," he continued, his voice a fair bit nastier now that he was no longer making a concentrated effort to be nice to her. "I-I don't think it'd take me very long to fuck you until you cried, Summer... but I'd make sure to keep going for a goooood, looooong time."

"Oh goood—“ Summer squirmed at the pressure against her asshole—Grandpa Rick was pushing hard enough for it to hurt only a tiny bit, but against her virgin hole, it felt like a can of soda was pressing up between her butt cheeks and it filled her with dread. Perhaps she had been a bit too over enthusiastic promising him he could be her first. She whimpered at his horrific suggestions, and actually turned her head fearfully to glance out of the corner of her eye at his hard, devious expression before snapping her head forward again. He wouldn’t would he? That would…it wouldn’t permanently hurt her if he did do that would it?

Although he'd mostly meant to teach her a bit of a lesson, the mental image of roughly taking his granddaughter's virginity as she wept had him grunting, and he simply couldn't keep up the facade any longer. He was not particularly gentle as he finally aligned his cock with her wet cunt, and pushed in - not giving her much time to adjust to his girth, simply pushing, and taking.

Which was exactly what she wanted anyway, so he couldn't find it in himself to feel too bad about it.

"You _will_ be crying, bitch," he slurred, leaning back a bit to smack her ass with his open palm - and again, harder. The feeling of her clenching around his cock as he did so was magnificent, and he decided he could keep this up for a little while, spanking that jiggling ass of hers as he was buried deep inside her.

As abruptly as he forced his way in, her grandfather pulled out halfway and rammed back again, her vagina burning at the brutal stretch, she gasped—it felt like he was fucking poking her lungs with his goddamn dick, she’d never felt someone so deep inside her before. She grunted deep and desperate as he thrust in again, her eyes watering at the pressure, and then once again his hand crashed into her ass hard enough to dislodge a few that trickled down her cheeks.

”AHHhhh-- y-yess—G-gran-gran-pa—ff-fuck—“ the swats hurt badly over her freshly spanked bottom, and being roughly fucked over the arm of the chair, her grandfather’s wiry chest pressed into her back, Summer’s eyes welled up and she swallowed down a sob. Goddammit, she didn’t want to start crying that fast, but Grandpa Rick wasn’t giving her much of a choice. As he picked up the pace and set a punishingly fast and hard rhythm, Morty’s breathless report of roughness now made sense.

Pleased with the effect he was having, Rick continued fucking his granddaughter roughly, penetrating her as deeply as he could, pulling back, and slamming back inside her almost immediately after. Still his hand came down on her ass. Inspiration struck, and he tangled his free hand in her hair, pulling her back roughly. "Arch that back for grandpa," he commanded, alternating between harshly tugging on her hair and spanking her. "Fffffucking hell, Summer... y-you sure are tight for a slutty little girl."

Which was true enough, and he was pleasantly surprised. Maybe she hadn't gotten as freaky as often with those loser boyfriends of her as he previously thought she would have - then again, inexperienced girls generally didn't make the kinds of noises Summer currently made. Perhaps she just wasn't quite turned on enough to accommodate his fat cock - a thought which had a sly grin spread on his face, and his tongue shot out, licking at his lips in delight. He got a very sincere kind of pleasure from making his partners cum, sure... but there was something uniquely delectable about having a much, much better time than the other person.

And Rick, for his part, was having a fucking ball. His granddaughter was already in tears, but hot and slick around him. Her ass wobbled deliciously every time he smacked it, and he knew that the next time she fucked anyone except him, she'd be disappointed at their size. The idea that it was his cock turning his granddaughter into a little size queen had his dick twitching inside her, but he was determined to go for a bit longer - the potential of having a weeping, writhing mess to jam his cock in over and over was too good to pass up.

"Ssssummer," he hissed, "the things y-your grandpa is gonna, gonna do to you... You sure, y-you opened up a can of worms here you shouldn't have touched, didn't you? Huh?" Another sharp tug at her hair, followed by a blistering swat to her behind. "Kind of a Pandora's box situation here..."

Summer yelped as she was spanked again, a plaintive wail that she muffled with the back of her hand as she scrubbed her teary face and did her best to arch her back and hold the position, even while she was ruthlessly hammered by her energetic grandfather. Getting fucked by him honestly made her feel like she was a virgin all over again; none of the boys at school she had fucked were even close to being this big, this long, this thick. Another thrust, another hard smack, and Summer responded with yet another shriek of half pain, half delight as her grandfather delivered on his promise to make her cry. But good god, it was really happening, she was really bent over the couch, really getting the life banged out of her by Grandpa Rick, and it felt _really_ good; it wasn’t a fantasy. The realization that her dirtiest daydreams were literally coming true right this very second made Summer laugh breathlessly for a brief moment against her background of tears. Over-emotional and almost at her limit, the girl held on for dear life as she was well and truly fucked.

The way he talked to her made goosebumps prickle the back of her neck, and Morty’s assertion that when Rick fucks you, you’re the only thing in the universe that matters flitted through her memory. Summer could barely string together a complete thought or a coherent sentence, Grandpa Rick filled her physically and mentally in a way that was almost spiritual if he hadn’t been such a horrendous bully.

Between loud moans, Summer gasped at Grandpa Rick’s pledge of future sessions like this one, hoping he was serious, and knowing that if he was it would mean not just pleasure for her, but also, most assuredly pain. She found she didn’t mind. “I ahhnn—I d-don’t care, I f-fucking—ooohh—I fucking want this—I need this—I don’t caaare—“ Summer reached her hand between her legs and fondled Grandpa Rick’s sack each time he plowed into her as she hummed between weary sobs, “P-pandora ain’t got shit on this box—“

Dumb joke, but she chuckled weakly at herself as each thrust reverberated through her body. She was covered in a sheen of sweat as she gripped the couch. She couldn’t cum anymore, the pace was too fast, too fierce—but she discovered that she was finding a lot of pleasure in simply being a warm body for her grandfather to exploit…good god, what was he doing to her!?

"Ffffffucking hell," Rick panted, both at his granddaughter's shit sense of humor and her soft hand on his balls. Where the hell had she picked up that little trick? She might have the pussy of a virgin, but she definitely had the technique of a pro. He was determined to last, finding the feeling of ploughing his teenage granddaughter for the first time an experience to be savored, but that was becoming increasingly difficult with her moaning and carrying on like that. He - somewhat disappointedly - stopped spanking her, knowing that having her contract around his cock would put an even quicker end to this.

"Y-you little whore," he grunted, pressing his chest tightly against her back and wrapping his arms around her to rut into her like a dog. Up close she smelled absolutely delicious, sweet and sweaty all at once, and he buried his face in her hair like the old pervert he was, breathing in deeply. "If only those boys y-you run around with knew how you prefer grandpa's dick over alllll the rest of 'em, huh... maybe I, maybe I should tell them you're all mine and they can take a, take a fucking hike..." His thrusts became more erratic as he rapidly neared his orgasm, but didn't decrease in intensity - he seemed intent to hit her as deeply as possible with every single thrust. "Maybe grandpa should drop a... drop a load in that slutty cunt of yours before you go out so they know juuuuust who y-you, who you belong to..."

Summer committed every filthy thing that sprang from her grandfather’s lips to memory. She wanted to ensure a flawless mental recreation of this very moment for masturbatory fantasies later. She imagined the looks on the faces of various boys who chased after her in school if they could see her like this. In many ways, this was disappointing; Summer liked having sex, she was popular, she had a seemingly endless stream of guys happy to wine and dine and pipe her, but after this, there was no way any other guy who she fucked would be anything but a shitty replacement for the cock currently filling her up to the brim. As Summer panted in ecstasy, drool running from the corner of her mouth, she wondered to herself—did Grandpa Rick know? Did he understand how thoroughly he was ruining other boys for her? She gasped ‘Grandpa’ over and over as he thrust into her, each punishing entry feeling deeper than the last—did he know that he was just making her dirty little crush worse!? And then his gruff voice firmly informed her that she ‘belonged’ to him, and with a hot rush of tangled emotion, Summer orgasmed again, just from that, and pressed her face into one trembling hand, laughing and crying and clenching around his dick still slamming in and out of her.

Rick, Spurred on by a sick sort of jealousy as well as pride at the idea that Summer was his for now, pressed his mouth to her neck and bit down - barely hard enough to bruise, but the idea was certainly there. "Put you in a fucking chastity belt," he groaned, "keep that pussy nice and tiiiiight for grandpa..."

And that was enough. With a final groan he came inside her, thick, hot spurts of cum coating her insides. Even as his dick softened he stayed inside her, determined to make her hold his load inside her as long as possible.

Silently thanking god she was on the pill, Summer shuddered against the arm of the chair, collapsing over it, groaning as she felt him pump his load into her stretched pussy.

“Fuck—“

That was all she could say, really. Never before had she felt so entirely, thoroughly, exhausted. Summer could feel Grandpa Rick’s cock inside her start to soften and she almost wept with relief as the pressure of a large stretch finally began to subside in her nether regions. Summer didn’t bother holding herself up anymore and relaxed over the arm of the chair, her limbs limply dangling as she heaved, trying with difficulty to catch her breath, afraid to move lest she break the illusion and this was all just a very strange, very slutty Sunday daydream. Her voice was half-mumbled as she spoke with her cheek squished against the couch as she rested, “Thhann-you, G-gran-pa Ric—“

Rick grinned against her heated skin as she thanked him, and finally, mercifully pulled out. His cum dripped out of her, and he relished the idea of the other Smiths seeing the stain on the sofa and wondering what it was. In fact, he was more than a little tempted to command Summer to stay here, bent over the couch, her pussy gaping, cum leaking out of her. That would be an interesting way to come home for her parents, wouldn't it? He wondered, briefly, how Beth would react. Jerry would be horrified, certainly - but Beth? Beth might just feel jealous...

He tucked himself back in his pants and zipped up with a satisfied grunt. As he got off the sofa, he patted her ass one final time, before capturing her chin in his hand and tilting her head to look at him. He exposed his teeth in a way that could barely be called a smile, and he looked especially debauched after their recent activities: sweat running down his temples, his hair an absolute mess, and his eyes still shining with adrenaline. "Y-you're a good fuck, Summer," he said, kissing her on the cheek, surprisingly chaste.

And, without pulling away, his lips a fraction of an inch away from her skin, he whispered: "Almost as good as your mom."

With that, he turned on his heel, and left for the garage, humming contentedly. What a fucking fantastic way to spend a Sunday. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much his life had improved since Beth and Jerry decided to fuck around with/on his stuff. He ought to buy them dinner to thank them.

That comment. Any dreamy, sleepy satisfaction that Summer had been enjoying drained out of her in an instant, replaced by cold jealousy and, frankly, a shot of frustrated fury. But could she expect anything less from this drunk old devil? As he walked away with a low chuckle and a smirk, Summer shakily pushed up on her elbows to watch him retreat toward the garage. Her hand slipped down to softly self-examine, and she winced at the soreness between her legs. Still, Summer had just enjoyed the best sex of her life, and although she knew exactly what her grandfather was attempting to do with that rude little comment, Summer couldn’t help herself. She was jealous. And she was already plotting how to become Grandpa Rick’s favorite. Summer flipped her hair over her shoulder…at least she was a redhead, an aesthetic that the patriarch had not made a secret that he vastly preferred when it came to women, but she guessed her mother was probably way more experienced than she was.

Dragging herself upstairs to the shower, Summer lazily leaned against the wall as hot water poured over her and she considered the past hour. Morty really hadn’t been kidding, had he? Finishing her shower, she retreated to her bedroom and picked out a cute ‘lounge around the house’ outfit. Grinning at her reflection in the mirror: low-slung sweatpants, a baggy crop-top that hung perfectly off her breasts, messy, wet red hair sticking against her neck—she snickered. Grandpa Rick wasn’t the only one in the family who could be seductive without trying. Generally Summer didn’t bother trying to look good at home, but between Grandpa Rick and Morty, she had two new cocks to attract, and with her mother as clear competition, she had a bitch to be better than.

Returning to the living room, Summer cleaned up as much as she could, finishing just moments before her parents returned. Spotting her mother, her newly-youthful, beautiful, blond mother, Summer smiled to herself; her mom was still wearing clothes for a 35-year-old on her perky, pretty, tight little body. This wouldn’t be even be a contest—her mom might look like a hot teenager again, but it she’d been an adult for a long time, whereas Summer was a hot teenager. Shaking her hips, but walking with that very obvious just-been-fucked pace, Summer wandered to the den with a smile on her face… let the games begin.


	7. Mother-Daughter Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! If [cakeboobs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeboobs/) and I weren't already on our way to hell, this chapter would've sent us straight there. Rick decides to play Beth and Summer off against each other, with disastrous results for the girls. Not so much for Rick. Rick has a great time.

It was a good week later before Rick laid a hand on any of the Smiths again. Although it had been fun hanging out with his family and alternating between beating and fucking the shit out of them, there was still work to be done, and he spent most of the week travelling between planets, brokering arms deals, and scavenging for parts. It was hard work and there were a few too many idiots involved for his liking, so when he finally had some time to himself he decided he might as well give himself a little treat.

He had certainly noticed Summer's adorable efforts to seduce him and upstage her mother, and he wondered if Beth had noticed too. Surely all of the family members were aware he'd shown Beth a thing or two about messing around with Rick, considering she'd been so fucking loud while he did -- but no one had been around when Summer got _hers_ , so perhaps Beth still thought she was the only Smith he'd deigned to fuck. She probably had no clue about Morty either, and that had been going on for a good while longer.

Quite the appetizing idea, showing his daughter her place - and so, when the rest of the family had retreated to their respective bedrooms, Rick made a point to go to the master bedroom and tell Beth he had something to discuss with her downstairs -- loud enough that Summer would surely hear.

"Downstairs in five," he instructed, pointedly looking at the bathroom as he did so: _clean yourself up_ , the implication clear. Without waiting for her, he made his way to the living room, which was quickly becoming his favorite scene to debauch the various Smiths, and sat down in the middle of the sofa: legs spread, arms stretched, the king of the fucking castle.

Beth ignored the sad-puppy look her husband gave her as she left her bedroom and walked across the hall to the bathroom. God, Dad was about as subtle as an avalanche. As she brushed her teeth and looked at herself in the mirror, it occurred to her how strange it was that she was calmly preparing to fuck her father. Surely the only reason why hell itself hadn’t opened up and swallowed their whole goddamn house was because they were too perverted for even the devil to handle. Cleaned up and with her pulse pounding in her ears, Beth wandered down the hall toward the stairs. Summer poked her head out as she walked by her daughter’s room.

“It’s after curfew, mom.”

Beth sneered at her daughter. “Summer, mind your own business.”

“Where are you going?”

The tight, irritated way Summer was speaking to her gave Beth pause. Normally, she’d be rushing to get to her father before he became annoyed that she was taking too long, but this was _interesting_. Beth stopped and turned to look at her daughter. The two women stood on opposite sides of the threshold. Although they were mother and daughter separated by more than a decade, presently they simply looked like two gorgeous teenage girls angling for a fight. Beth tossed her hair over her shoulder, “I’m going downstairs because your grandfather wants to talk to me.” She spotted the flash of jealousy that crossed Summer’s face for less than a second, and internally, Beth cringed. Jesus, Summer didn’t have a crush on him too, did she?

“Why does he wanna talk to _you?”_

The dismissive, rude way her daughter said it, eyeing her mother’s thin shorts and tank top pajamas, almost implying—Beth fumed, “Because he _wants me.”_

A second of silence drifted between them as Summer flushed red. “Whatever, gross mom.” And she turned on her heel, slamming her door shut loudly. Beth winced at the noise, praying her father hadn’t heard it and been distracted. She wanted to see what he had in mind for her downstairs anyway!

Trotting down the stairs, Beth rounded the corner into the living room and caught her breath softly when she saw her dad. How an old, grumpy, alcoholic man managed to be attractive doing literally nothing but sitting crudely on the couch was a mystery she’d never understand. She walked forward haltingly, nervous but trusting—it was her _father_ after all, and smiled curiously at him. “Um… you wanted to talk to me, Dad?”

Rick turned to look at her, and for a moment his eyes flickered towards the stairs, as if expecting something else to be there. If he showed any disappointment, it was only in a quirk of his eyebrow, and it was gone as soon as it had appeared. He'd heard Summer's bedroom door slam, and he felt - no, he _knew_ that she was jealous enough to do something stupid... like come downstairs.

Turning his attention to his daughter, he sucked in a breath through his teeth and shook his head dismissively. "What did I-I tell you, Beth?" Not waiting for a reply, he gestured towards her outfit. "Y-you're wearing pajamas, huh? Did - did your dad tell you you _could?"_ Without his usual perverted leering or righteous fury, he sat up straighter, and patted his lap. He seemed almost bored, like this was just another chore like taking out the trash or doing the dishes. "Pants down," he said, his face a mask of bland impassivity, "panties too."

As far as infractions went, it was a minor one - he'd commanded her to sleep naked while drunk, and after fucking her, so she could very well have interpreted it as a not-too-serious rule. However, he fully intended to lay into her as hard as he could - if only because he knew a vocal Beth was a _loud_ Beth, and those noises would travel upstairs. Last time he'd spanked Beth, Summer had simply listened in - perhaps this time he'd see a glimpse of her and manage to haul her in here, too.

He smiled at Beth in a condescending, pitying way, shaking his head again. Poor, dumb Beth. She had no clue, did she? "Y-you're not getting a warm-up," he said. "A-and this is a punishment, so don't get any ideas."

Beth’s expression fell, and she pushed her lips forward in a pout. She’d assumed she’d be coming down for something a little more fun, but it appeared to be business as usual. With a deep frown she slipped her shorts down to her feet, and with a sigh, slid her panties down to join them in a pool of fabric on the carpet that she stepped out of as she walked closer to her father.

“But Dad, I thought—“ Beth felt herself tremble slightly; damn it, would she ever _not_ be scared of going over his knee? “I thought that rule was for when I was in bed…not also…” Beth glanced around the living room, “Not when I’m walking around the house at night…”

Reaching the couch, the blonde slowly, painstakingly stretched out over her father’s lap, whimpering as he announced she’d be getting no warm-up. Why was he so _unfair!?_ Over his lap she shifted to get comfortable - who knew how long she’d be here? She squeezed her thighs together. Hanging half-naked over his lap was intensely humiliating, and even it was even more humiliating that being humiliated seemed to make her wet. Beth stared ahead at the opposite wall, willing herself to not be horny.

Beth’s attempted self-control was in stark juxtaposition of her daughter, who while Grandpa Rick had been talking, snuck out of her room to creep her way three stairs down to sit and listen. From her vantage point she could just barely see down into the living room where Grandpa Rick’s blue hair tufted up from the center of the couch and her mother’s half naked form rested over him. If Grandpa Rick turned his head around, he could see her, but Summer was far enough up the stairs that if she shuffled backward one or two steps she’d be out of sight again. Her hand crept into the front of her panties as Grandpa Rick rested his hand in the center of her mother’s pale bottom, and the redhead squirmed in her seat.

"Y-you thought wrong," Rick replied curtly. When Beth found herself over his lap, he scooted forward, balancing Beth on his knee, swung his right leg over her to secure her, and gathered her wrists in his left hand. He seemed to be expecting some resistance, and clearly wasn't planning on giving her a chance to prove herself first. 

If he was aware of Summer's eavesdropping he certainly didn't let it show, although his voice was perhaps a bit louder than usual when he announced: "Let's, let's see what we have here." Without further warning, his hand dipped between her thighs, and he fingered her roughly for a few moments before drawing back. "Y-y-you having a good - eeeuughh - a good time, Beth?" he said, tut-tutting. "How's a guy supposed to punish a naughty little slut like you, huh? This kind of - this kind of _obscenity_ is exactly why you're not getting a warm-up." His hand covered her ass, warm, but the threat that hand presented was palpable. "Try to enjoy this one, I-I fucking dare you."

His grip on her wrists tightened, and his leg pulled her closer against him - and he began. His hand came down hard, fast, and relentlessly, covering the whole of her ass, and the sensitive backs of her thighs indiscriminately. Only when he'd worked up a pink glow that was steadily turning to red did he pause. "Hey, _Beth._ A question - d'you, did you think just because y-you - eeeuughh - you let me fuck that cunt of yours I'd go easier on you? Huh?" Not waiting for an answer - evidently the question had been rhetorical - he continued his onslaught, not letting up in rhythm, speed, or force. Her ass was rapidly turning cherry red, but Rick showed no signs of tiredness or pity.

The first swat knocked the breath clean out of Beth’s body as her mouth dropped open in shock. The next few drove every other secondary thought from Beth's mind, and one long, loud, warbling cry shrieked out of her and filled the living room. Somehow this was more painful than the spoon. She'd never felt her father's hand this hard against her ass and it felt like a paddle. Although normally Beth did truly try to be a good girl and keep still for spankings, the utter shock and suddenness combined with the mild rule infraction had her squirming up a storm.

"DAAAD--" Beth coughed out a sob, already frantic, shaking like a leaf over his knee, kicking her feet although she knew it would do no good, and generally carrying on like any girl would enduring a thrashing to this degree. "Dadd, p-p- _please,_ I-I OOWWW--I won't wear peee-jayyyy-hayyyys--" her mind raced, why was she being punished this severely? But her brain was a haze of confusion and pain and any speculation was immediately cut short by rapid fire swats that had Beth bouncing over his knee like a toddler.

Summer, in complete disregard for being secretive, had meanwhile stretched her legs out down the stairs and her hand was jammed into her panties, the pad of her middle finger swirling a circle around her clitoris as the other covered her mouth with a hot, sweaty palm. Her mother looked fucking incredible--somehow, she was prettier when she was crying, all blond hair and pink cheeks and big doe eyes and her ass was positively crimson. A twinge of sympathy ran through her; she understood slightly the insane burn of a punishment spanking, but the scene unfolding below was entirely too hot not to enjoy. Rick grunted suddenly with effort, and scared, Summer crept back up a step, determined to hide quickly should he turn around suddenly...it was dangerous. She grinned--perhaps that was why it was even _better._

Rick seemed absolutely determined to drive his daughter to despair, and when he finally paused again, it was only to hiss: "Listen to yourself. A-all this talk of _put me in my place, daddy_ and, a-and _I want it to hurt, daddy_ but now that y-you're getting what, what you deserve, all of a sudden you're gonna act like a little _bitch?"_ He continued, her ass now deep red and scorching hot to the touch. He took the time to focus on the backs of her thighs, his hand flat and hard, his fingers spread - not letting up on her in the slightest.

His hand was beginning to hurt, but that was a price he was more than willing to pay - besides, it was clear enough this was hurting Beth a lot more than it was hurting him. Her desperate cries, her sobs more like screams, only served to egg him on. He knew that he was going way too hard on her for what she'd actually done wrong, but if he was to carry out his little plan, it was vital that she stopped thinking about getting spanked by him as a mildly uncomfortable but ultimately sexy experience. There was no affection or suggestiveness in this spanking.

Finally he seemed satisfied with his handiwork, and he paused again. Instead of spitting out yet another venomous insult, however, he squeezed her ass roughly, surveying the damage with satisfaction. "There we go. Now y-you're gonna go and stand in the, in the corner - no rubbing, or you'll get more, y-you understand? and y-you're gonna _stay_ there while I..."

His eyes did not leave his daughter's ass, but something in his tone definitely changed to a low purr which seemed infinitely more dangerous than his detached disappointment of before.

"...while I take care of that horny d-daughter of yours. Summer?"

Beth was nearly hysterical; and even though he had stopped spanking she continued to cry, the floor beneath her face speckled with tiny wet spots from her tears. She heard her father above her sobbing, and with a jolt of surprise heard Summer's name hiss through his teeth. Her father helped her up off his lap none too gently, and Beth practically ran to the corner, infinitely eager to be out of arms reach from her father, who was clearly in a mood. Beth stuffed herself into the corner and covered her face in her hands sniffling pathetically.

At the mention of her name, Summer had jumped a foot in the air and then accidentally slid down the stairs on her bottom almost mid-way. "Fffuuuuck." 

She was caught. Grandpa Rick hadn't even turned around and yet he knew she was there. Summer froze. If she bolted, would he follow her up the stairs and drag her back? Something about that image was a little erotic, if also fucking terrifying. Summer slowly slid on her butt down the stairs, one at a time, taking much longer than she needed to, before slowly, shamefully shuffling into the living room. Up close her mom's ass looked even worse, and a pit formed in her stomach as she faced Grandpa Rick in nothing but her panties and a tank top. Summer twisted her fingers together, her eyes on the floor, feeling her ass tingle behind her, "Uhh..h-hey Grandpa Rick..."

Rick only looked Summer's way when she had finally entered the living room. He scowled, clearly unamused with her antics. "Disgusting," he spat, without clarifying what exactly it was that he found so repulsive about his fat-bottomed, nubile granddaughter. "Take off your underwear. Y-you're in for it too."

He waited for Summer to comply before pulling her over his knee, locking her in the very same position she'd been watching her mother get spanked in only minutes earlier. "Y-you think I'm gonna let something like that slide a second time?" he hissed. "No." And with that, a flurry of smacks came down on her ass - he certainly wasn't going easier on her than on Beth, even though his hand stung with the intensity of the spanking he'd given his daughter.

"Not so - _eeeuuughh_ \- sexy when it's happening to you, is it?" he said venomously. Summer apparently had not earned the privilege of not being spanked while being lectured, and he didn't let up for a moment, turning her ass from pink to red to crimson in record time. "I-I should take a strap to you," he said, "teach you for, for once and for all that rubbing that slutty cunt of yours to spanking doesn't make it any more fun to get _punished."_

Summer had no such noble desires to control herself for the sake of Grandpa Rick, and began howling the moment he began, kicking, crying, and squirming over his knee as he blistered her ass. These swats had to be at least ten times harder than how he had spanked her that one time before fucking her, and before her brain completely clouded over with agony, her last thought was curiosity over whether Grandpa Rick had a bionic arm or something.

"I'm s-sooooryyy!!" Might as well begin apologizing early. Summer bawled miserably, feeling uniquely humiliated that she was in an identical position as her mother just moments earlier. Her _mother._ Summer glanced over at the cherry-bottomed blonde sniffling in the corner and grit her teeth. This was unfair, sure she had been listening but this was a far worse spanking than she thought she deserved. And Summer let Rick know her feelings through copious yowling. 

With her wrists and legs pinned all she could do was toss her head back and forth and buck up from his knee, but he pressed her down firmly, immovably, and she was forced to simply take her punishment whether she wanted to or not.

"PLEEEASSE--I-I-" Summer yelped at more burning swats before Grandpa Rick's comment about the strap, and she burst into horrified sobbing, even twisting her head to try and look at him pathetically begging, "Oh please, gran-pa, please I won't--I won't ever again, I -yeoooowww!! Grandpa PLEASE please, I won't!"

"I know you won't," Rick snapped, "because y-you're not gonna be sitting down for a week when I'm, when I'm done with you, _Summer."_ It seemed he wasn't just bragging or trying to scare her - his hard hand came down again and again, and he alternated between spreading out the swats so Summer couldn't anticipate them and striking the same spot a few times in quick succession.

Bruises were beginning to bloom on her chubby ass, and Rick was tempted to keep going. He was more than a little peeved that Summer would repeat the same mistake that had gotten her brother so brutally punished (by him, sure) weeks earlier. Of course it played right into his plans for the night, but it still showed, if not an uncharacteristic ignorance, then certainly a deliberate disrespect - and after he'd given her that good girl spanking she'd been hankering for, too. How ungrateful.

Finally, reluctantly, he stopped. "Corner," he commanded, roughly pushing her off of his lap. Beth still stood sobbing in the corner, and he decided to let the two of them stew for a little while. In his experience, people were much more pliable after a spanking and some silent contemplation of their missteps.

He got his flask out of his pocket and took a swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The alcohol burned pleasantly on its way down, and he permitted himself a sly grin, knowing the girls couldn't see him anyway. Knowing these two, they'd jump at the chance to get back in his good books.

After a few more minutes, he finally spoke up: "Turn around, b-both of you - and - _eeeughhh_ \- get on your knees."

Perhaps the memory of her good girl spanking was still fresh, or perhaps Summer was just in a typical teenaged sensitive mood, but the scolding made her cry harder than the spanking. When she was roughly pushed off, like her mother, she hurried to the corner, hands grabbing her bottom until Grandpa Rick sharply told her to cut it out. Instead she crossed her arms, hugging her chest for self-comfort as she cried miserably with her nose touching the wall.

 

When he released them from time-out, Beth had mostly stopped crying and was merely a sniffly, pink-cheeked mess but Summer still wept, her hands pinching her thighs, desperate to reach back and rub but too scared to cross her grandfather right to his face. Both girls slowly dropped to their knees, with similar posture--they looked nothing like mother and daughter, but rather a pair of hot, teary sisters, thoroughly punished. 

Summer kept her eyes on the floor, wincing every time she made a movement to jiggle her sore ass. Beth watched her father without meeting his eyes--keeping her eyes lowered to his chest or his hands. The blonde knew for a fact they weren't done. Summer might think they were just on their knees to be scolded but Beth had a sneaking feeling that something much more horrible awaited them. She glanced quickly at Summer beside her and felt slightly satisfied; serves her right for trying to listen to someone else's punishment. Beth couldn't help but smile internally before looking back to Dad in anxious expectation.

Rick leaned forward, hands on his thighs, his legs spread. Where he had been the very image of cold fury minutes earlier, he now seemed to have adopted an attitude of paternal disappointment, and he shook his head in an only mildly convincing mockery of concern. "Th-th-the - _eeeuughhh_ \- the two of you are gonna be the death of me," he sighed. "I-I work hard all week, and then when I, when I finally come home, I have to deal with the two of you." He paused for effect, looking from his red-eyed daughter to his sobbing granddaughter. "Y-you know, I was expecting better with how _nice_ I've been to both of you these, these past few weeks."

If his words were ambiguous, his tone certainly was not. He allowed himself a moment to revisit that delightful Sunday morning fuck with Summer, and banging Beth right in front of her husband. Of course he'd gotten as much of a kick out of both those situations as the girls had, but he knew they were unlikely to call him out on that after getting their respective asses destroyed.

"In fact, I think it's time you girls show ol' Rick some _gratitude,"_ he continued, and sat up a bit to unzip his pants. With a greasy smirk, he pulled out his cock - still soft, but after a few tugs, it slowly started coming to life, approaching its usual impressive size. "Both of you, c'mere," he commanded, crooking a finger at them. "And no getting up. Th-this is a punishment, so I want you girls to _crawwwllllll."_ He licked his lips, delighting in the fact that he had wound these beautiful women around his finger so easily (or around his hand, perhaps).

Beth and Summer simultaneously sighed dramatically _"Oh my god-"_ before exchanging a look of wary frustration. Even post-spanking they both still had their pride, and crawling over to the family patriarch, especially when more discipline awaited them, did not make them especially eager. Summer was the first to slowly hunch over and plant her palms on the floor, but Beth quickly followed. It wouldn't look good on her if Summer obeyed better. 

Summer meanwhile was busy trying to swallow down her self respect, because she had caught on to Grandpa Rick's sneaky expression faster than her mother. Somehow, the two of them were in for it, and the more she ingratiated herself to her grandfather, probably the better off she would be. 

Both girls crawled with pouty expressions over to the edge of the couch, where Rick sat with his half hard cock laying in his hand as he lazily jerked off. Sitting on their heels, it was a struggle for both girls to not brattily talk back; they were thoroughly cowed by a harsh spanking sure, but having both inherited the Sanchez stubbornness, neither one was _that_ easy to break. Summer leaned over to rub her carpet-scrubbed knees while Beth twisted her fingers and anxiously looked between her father and her daughter, dreading what might happen next.

When they finally sat back and looked at him with expectant trepidation, Rick couldn't help but grin. With his free hand, he reached out so gently pet Summer's hair, his eyes on Beth as he did so. Playing them off of each other was a fair bit nastier than just beating their asses raw, but he was feeling particularly nasty tonight.

"Now the two of you," he drawled, looking from one to the other, "have both had the plea.... - _eeuughhh_ \- the _privilege_ of bouncing on Grandpa Rick's cock. Just a little treat for my two _faaaaavorite_ girls. And what do I, what do I get in return? Sneaking around, d-disobeying me, spying on each other..." He sat back, and spread his arms behind him. "I-it's high time you girls learn the value - the value of _teamwork."_ He gave his cock a significant look. "So let's see it. No hands."  
Beth's head snapped to Summer as Dad announced she had fucked him too. Summer stuck her tongue out and grinned. "Jealous much?"

Beth snarled, leaning back to look at her daughter with an appraising eye; of course Dad had fucked her--big tittied, red-headed, fat-assed-- she bared her teeth at Summer, "Tramp."

"Fatherfucker."

"Oh _real_ creative Summer; you got your dad's imagination, you slut."

"Wow mom, so then who was the bitch screaming 'daddy' at the top of her lungs the other night?"

Beth lunged for her, but Summer was ready, and grabbed a fistful of her mother's hair as they fell to the floor between Rick's spread legs, shrieking at each other angrily, half-naked and fully aggravated.

Rick heaved a sigh, tucked himself back in his pants, and got up with a groan. He then proceeded to grab a fistful of hair with each hand, roughly separating the two screeching girls and holding them at arm's length. They looked terrible and beautiful like this: red-cheeked, hissing, furious and humiliated. The idea that he could provoke such volatile emotions in them was one that had his dick throbbing in his pants, but before he could finally get his hard-earned relief, another lesson would have to be taught.

"Stop that," he hissed, voice low and dangerous. Evidently he did not feel like asserting his dominance by raising his voice; instead, he shook them by their hair, before venomously continuing: "L-l-look at yourself. This is - this is - _eeughh_ \- this is _disgraceful."_ He pulled both of them towards the couch. "Hands on the couch and bend over," he instructed, only letting go of their hair after a final vicious tug.

There was the sound of metal, and leather being pulled through belt loops. "Th-this kind of behavior is unacceptable - a lesson I didn't think you'd... didn't think I'd have to _teach_ you."

Summer's head whipped around just in time to catch the end of Grandpa Rick's belt sail through the last of his belt loops before he doubled up the strap in his hand. 

"Grandpa Rick noooooo--"

She made to push up from the couch but she was pushed back into position. Beside her, her mother turned to glare,

"Would you please just fucking behave yourself Summer! I don't want to get it worse!"

Summer scoffed and rolled her eyes, "Jeez mom, no fight left in you, huh?"

They would've fought again had they not had a furious presence holding a belt directly behind them. Beth pursed her lips and turned her head to stare at the couch cushions. If her daughter wanted to invite more punishment by acting like a brat fine, but she didn't want to get in extra trouble too.

"Sorry, Dad," Beth hoped a submissive demeanor would help her case; after all, if it was her vs. Summer she had way less of an ego. Sumer still evidently thought she could challenge Rick Sanchez.

Annoyed that she couldn't get a rise out of her mother, Summer instead turned her head again to plead with her grandfather, "pleeease, Grandpa Rick, we won't fight anymore--" a bold faced lie, as fighting with her mother was precisely what Summer planned to do the moment Grandpa Rick let them up again.

"I know you won't," Rick said, briefly considering whether he should start with Beth or Summer. Summer was certainly being bratty in a way that warranted immediate correcting, but she was also more likely to get upset about having to watch someone else get punished before getting her own just desserts. Beth had quickly turned into the dutiful daughter the moment he'd taken the position of family patriarch, and there wasn't much to be won there in the way of putting her in her place, seeing as how she was already firmly _in_ her place.

Beth first, then. He positioned himself next to her, put a hand on her back to keep her down, and began to thrash her with his belt. On a freshly-spanked bottom, bruises began to form quickly, but he didn't let up until he'd turned her crimson ass practically purple, with nasty white splotches where the skin had had to deal with the hardest swats. Satisfied with his handiwork, he gave her one final swat before pulling away.

Beth shrieked like a wet cat the whole way through, her loud wails echoing up the stairs and practically rattling the bedroom doors against which Jerry and Morty pressed themselves, anxiously, horrifically curious. She bucked up against the hand holding her down but Dad was immovable. He held her down with shockingly strong force, and it was only the necessity to support her own weight with her hands that she wasn't reaching back to get her hands in the way.

Summer watched with dread; her mother wasn't handling herself very well, and mom had more practice with this sort of thing than she did. Against her mother's anguished begging, Grandpa Rick simply grunted with effort and seemed to strike harder. Summer squeezed her hands into the couch, silently hoping by the time it was her turn Grandpa Rick would be out of energy.

"Y-you're getting more," their disciplinarian sternly intoned. "Stay in position." With that, he turned to Summer, shaking his head. "You - eeeughhh - you know, Summer... I used to think you were smarter than the rest of these, of these idiots. Guess I was wrong, huh? Well, if you're, if you're so determined never to sit again for the rest of your life, grandpa will happily help you out..."

She did not get the courtesy of a hand on her back. Instead, his fingers tangled in her hair again, and he tugged at her hair, hard. "Stay," he commanded, before giving her ass the same work-over her mother had just received. His arm was beginning to ache with the effort of it, and he couldn't suppress a grunt every now and then as he laid his all into the smacks he was delivering. Knowing these two, they'd definitely be at each other's throats again if he didn't get it through to them that that was an extraordinarily bad idea.

The first horrible swat burned itself into Summer's recently-spanked ass and Summer instantly developed a phobia of leather belts.

"JESUS CHRIST GRANDPA--" 

But if it were possible to sway Rick Sanchez, invoking the name of God wasn't it, and if anything, he seemed to redouble his efforts as Summer screamed in response. When he finally relented Summer felt like the entirety of her face was composed of snot, and her ass felt literally burned. Her legs shook with the effort of staying upright, but Grandpa Rick's firm hold on her scalp was great encouragement to stay still.

Past the point of begging, both girls simply sobbed pathetically, the stubbornness long beaten out of them...most anyway.

Rick stood back, more than a little out of breath, and massaging his poor arm. No one ever mentioned just what hard work it was to put a naughty girl in her place, and he definitely wasn't getting any younger. The thought of administering the belt once more to each of his wayward girls made his triceps ache, and he did not suppress a dramatic sigh before sweeping his sweaty hair back from his forehead and advancing on Beth once more.

"SeeEEUUGHHms like I'm finally getting - getting _through_ to you, huh?" he sneered, landing a surprise smack on Summer's ass with his open palm. "Let's make sure we don't forget this, this little message I'm nice enough to impart on you two sorry bitches." He readied his belt once more, but lowered it again. Evidently his lecture wasn't quite over yet. "I-i-it should go without saying," he said pensively, "that next time I catch y-you girls fighting, you'll - you'll be getting all this and more." The thought of _that_ had his arm screaming out in protest, but hopefully he'd succeed in scaring the girls enough that they simply wouldn't try again.

"Y-you first, Beth," he announced, before laying into her with enough vigor to near the point of drawing blood - stopping just short of that, of course, but he still left her ass decidedly bruised and damaged. If he spent two minutes belting her, that'd be a generous estimate, but however long it was, it was enough to do some proper damage - and to wear out his arm for real. He decides to take a little break, leaning on Summer's back as if she were an end table rather than his own granddaughter. "Jeeeesus, the two of you - eeuughh - the two of you really tire a guy out, you know that? D-d-don't worry, Summer, grandpa's getting to you in a little bit... hey, while I-I catch my breath, why don't you both take a, take a moment to apologize to ol' Rick, huh?"

 _”SORRY!”_ Beth barked out her apology amidst a wealth of tears, her legs threatening to buckle, every joint in her body aching and her ass positively on fire. She was certain she had never been spanked this hard, but really she was in no position to truly analyze this session against past episodes, and terrified of still more punishment awaiting her, she babbled anything to get her torment to stop. “N-never—s-sorrieee daad, pleeease—never f-fiiight again—I’m sorry I-I _swear!”_

Summer still hadn’t endured the second part of her belting and she was less intelligible than her sobbing mother. But then, she was perhaps less practiced at dealing with an ass-beating. Hoarse and strained, and thick with snot, her trembling apology limped out of her throat as she stared at the couch and wondered if she had died and was actually in purgatory. “G-gran’pa Riick, sorrieee—I’m s-sohh-sorry, pleeease, _please,_ d-don’t—I’m—I-I’m sorry!!”

Beside her, her mother’s fevered panting, and shaking legs and most of all—her abject distress, did nothing to ease Summer’s anxiety. The redhead had assumed that enduring a punishment with someone else would be easier to bear (misery loves company?) but here, Grandpa Rick had set them against each other and it only seemed to be exacerbating their discipline rather than relieving some of it. To top it off, both girls, while not as smart as the family patriarch, were certainly very clever in their own right, and they both easily saw what he was doing.

Unfortunately, Rick played the game better than either of them. In this brief respite, Summer logically understood she should play nice with her mother, but still the ultimate threat of yet _another_ spanking permanently divided them. There were no alliances, no opportunities for a shared reprieve, just the terrifying, authoritarian Rick Sanchez, and his tireless arm versus four inept teenagers.

Summer started crying harder as she realized this.

It seemed he really _was_ getting through to the both of them. It was no surprise that Beth was prostrating herself before him in tears, what with her ass burning and sore, but Summer's abject terror and misery were a bit of a surprise (and, if Rick was honest, a bit of a disappointment). Last time he'd punished Summer she had at least attempted to keep her chin and her pride up, but this time she seemed to have no such qualms. Not a reason to go easy on her, to be sure, but Rick couldn't help shaking his head discontentedly.

"You're never gonna fight again?" he sighed. "Sounds like y-your mouth is writing checks your ass won't be able to cash. Shame." He finally stood up straight once more, experimentally smacked his palm with the belt, and turned to his unfortunate granddaughter. "You're a disgrace," he said, sounding neutral about that particular fact in a way that bordered on cold, "and an apology that's only born out of fear of getting your ass beat is worth nothing to me." He put one hand on her lower back, pressing down firmly. "You're supposed to be the smart one," he hissed, not sparing Beth a glance.

Almost immediately after, the belt came crashing down. On Summer's already marked ass, it didn't take many swats for the belt to leave angry, reddish-purple welts. Rick was particularly nasty, smacking her with the belt all the way down to her thighs before leaning over, curling one arm around her waist, nudging her legs apart, and delivering one stinging smack to her pussy. At least that seemed to be the last of it, and he was off of her as quickly as he'd come down on her, putting on his belt once more.

He sat down on the sofa, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Both of you are sucking me off," he commanded, "and if there's any more funny business I'm belting the both of you until I see blood. Y'liked that belt on your cunt, Summer? There's more where that came from." He'd clearly lost his patience with the both of them.

Beth sank back down to her knees scrubbing at her face with her fists. Her ass burned intensely, and every small movement she made caused her ass to jiggle and hurt again. Dad's announcement of her and her daughter's shared responsibility would've normally elicited a strong negative response; after surviving a thorough whuppin' at the hands of her father however, she was far more agreeable. With trembling hands the blond began to clumsily but quickly unzip his fly and began to shimmy his quickly hardening length from his pants. She eyed Summer beside her who was still rather weepy with a 'hurry up and get over it' look. It seemed that Dad was determined to treat them with strict parity today so she _needed_ her daughters cooperation.

Summer was just shy of hysterics and didn't care that Rick was irritated that she wasn't handling herself better. His exasperated statement that she was 'supposed' to be the smart Smith would've been more cutting if Summer hadn't already personally confirmed for herself that her Grandpa liked fucking her. Fine. Screw being the smart Smith, she'll be the sexy Smith. When the sharp leather finally stopped smacking into her and she was released, Summer collapsed where she stood, her face falling into the couch cushion and her hands clutching her burning, throbbing pussy as she wailed at Rick's injustice into the dense fabric.

A sharp elbow to her side reminded her that they weren't done yet, and as Summer looked up, her mother already had Grandpa Rick's cock in her hands, swiftly jacking it of as she inclined her head subtly. Summer got the picture. Crawling over as fast as she could, she tugged down the starchy pants and boxers and squeezed herself in beside her mother between Rick's spread legs.

Summer glanced up once out of curiosity, but the fierceness of Rick's expression was terrifying, and like her mother, their punishment had taken almost all the fight out of her, so she leaned forward and buried her mouth against his wrinkly, fuzzy sack while squished up next to her, Beth wrapped a hot, sloppy-with-tears-and-snot-mouth around the head of the patriarch's dick.

This was what he'd wanted all along, and to be honest, the blowjob was all the sweeter because of his sore arm and stinging hand. After hard labor, rewards feel all the more deserved, after all. Rick permitted himself a half-grin, exposing one yellow incisor as Beth and Summer scrambled to suck his dick in a way that would please him. See? The girls could get along. They just needed a little encouragement to work as a team. He was tempted for a moment to drop the fearsome exterior and be at least civil to the both of them (something about those plump lips wrapped around his dick and worshipping his sack made a guy feel downright charitable) but he decided he'd rather lubricate the wheels of progress with some more tears. 

"Good. Now here's a little game for you sorry bitches. The one whose performance I'm most impressed with won't get spanked again." His pale fingers buried themselves in the girls' hair and he yanked firmly. "Remember, no fighting, _ladieees."_ He let go of them abruptly and leaned back, weaving his fingers together behind his head, looking every inch a sneering noble ready to bask in rightful adoration. "You're just gonna have to be better than the other one. Good luck."

This was the life, wasn't it? Two pretty girls clamoring for his attention and desperate for his dick, feisty yet ultimately submissive. It was absolutely delicious. He wondered, briefly, if Beth regretted that incident in his lab that triggered their current arrangement, or if she thought the boons more than excused the beatings. Looking at her face, all puffy and red and resigned, he really wasn't sure.

"Ouuhhh ffffufff--" Summer's frustrated swearing was muffled by a mouthful of Rick, and she felt her backside throb angrily at the mere mention of being spanked again. She allowed herself to regret fighting with her mother with genuine remorse. Had they avoided a belting, a second spanking would be less of a horrific idea. Still terrible, but at least I wouldn't have been over the fresh bruises of a belt. A river of drool ran over her nose and Summer gagged as she felt her mother's snotty saliva drip down from where she was sucking cock directly above. Indignation welled up within Summer, but she forced herself to ignore her anger and focus on both the task at hand as well as her burning ass. 

Beth whined around the cock in her mouth and felt a few more tears drip down her cheeks. Goddammit this was truly as low as she had ever felt in her entire existence:crowding around her father's genitals with her daughter, crowned (or rather bottomed) with a bruised ass for good measure. The sheer shame alone made her want to weep. Below her, Summer was mouthing Dad's ballsack better than Beth thought she should be... exactly how slutty was her redheaded firstborn anyway?? Violent gagging interrupted her thoughts, and she watched Summer struggle to ignore the streams of snot and spit and drool that ran down Dad's dick and pooled against her face.

Motherly instinct is impossible to dissuade and in that moment Beth suddenly felt a shock of guilt. Guilt over fighting with Summer, guilt over being jealous of her father and daughter (how ridiculous!) Even guilt over starting this entire mess with Jerry in the first place. She lifted off of her father's dick and gently wrapped her hand around Summer's upper arm, firmly moving her up.

"Let's uhh--let's switch for a bit, okay hon?" Beth paused and swiftly wiped her mouth off on her arm to press a familiar kiss to Summer's sweaty forehead as they traded places. 

Summer was shocked at her mother giving up the clearly better position and doubly so at the small exchange of tender affection. As she looked down at her mom, blond and red faced and really, quite beautiful if Summer was being honest--abruptly all Summer wanted in the world was to crawl into bed beside her mom like she used to as a child and go to sleep snuggled up against her. Summer felt her face get hot with a furious blush as she lowered her mouth onto Grandpa Rick, flavored with mom's spit and his precum in a three-generation slurry of fluids. Curse Grandpa Rick and his horrible manipulations. But mom didn't deserve any more spanking. Summer sympathetically slid a bit closer to the blond beside her so that their shoulders fully touched; just to feel closer to her. Although the agony in her bottom made her gasp every time even minor contact occurred, Summer decided she would fully repay her karmic debt, and hopefully take the final spanking in place of her mother. She darted a look up at Rick who was grinning like a fox; she knew he'd be able to tell if she purposefully slacked off and most likely make their torment worse. The best she could do was suck him off as well as she knew how and pray that her mother put in just a bit more effort.

Rick watched the proceedings with a keen interest. He really, really didn't feel like spanking the _both_ of them once more, and when Beth pulled away he feared for a moment that he'd really have to mess up his aching arm even more just to get the two girls to learn their lesson. He was pleasantly surprised to see Beth actually made a bit of a maternal sacrifice for her daughter, and when she took Summer's place to dart her pink tongue over his hairy sack, he rested one hand on her head, stroking her hair ever so softly. A good attitude should be rewarded, after all, no matter how late in the game it finally showed up.

"That's _much_ better," he purred, quite enjoying the feeling of his cockhead engulfed by Summer's soft lips. "See, if y-you'd been this cooperative from the get-go, I - you wouldn't have to sleep on your stomach for the foreseeable future. That's why I - why I gotta teach you girls a _lesson_ every now and then. You don't _think."_ He put a hand on the back of Summer's neck, urging her forward a little. "C'mon, Summer," he sighed, "this - I could get this kind of blowjob from _Jerry._ Put a bit of effort into it, will you?" He grinned sleazily. "Or is it on purpose? Did you _like_ that belt smacking away at your pussy? You know all - all you gotta do is _ask_ grandpa, and he delivers."

At that point a particularly skillful manoeuvre of Beth's had him groaning and throwing his head back. Ugh, he loved having his balls played with, and Beth was doing a _proper_ job. He didn't want to bust too fast all the same, and so he put a hand on Beth's shoulder to push her away a little. "Both of you focus on my dick," he commanded. "I-I-I wanna see you guys make - make out with my dick in the middle. Come-come on."

Summer groaned in annoyance, but caught herself and dragged it out into what she hoped sounded like a moan. Any charitable feelings she had had for Grandpa Rick prior to this evening had vanished in a haze of corporal punishment and bullying. Plus, although she was doing her best to fake enthusiasm, being spanked is exhausting, and without the benefit of being turned on, her grandfather’s general terrible aroma was off-putting to say the least. But just when Summer was about to give up and accept whatever terrible retribution Grandpa Rick would rain down, her mother smoothly, sexily, raised up onto her knees to meet Summer’s eyes, and smiled.

The smile was enough. Something imperceptible made her mother simply dazzling when teary-eyed and distressed. Summer found herself hoping that it was genetic and she was similarly pretty while still full of tears and snot. Her mother lifted a gentle hand to the back of Summer’s neck and before the redhead could object, she was drawn in for a deep kiss. The stress and anxiety and frayed endorphins melted away beneath soft lips, and for just a fleeting second, Summer forgot all about the blue haired elder staring down at them.

Beth meanwhile was keeping her hands busy. The palm that had been resting against her daughter’s sweaty neck dropped down to grasp Summer’s hand and encourage her to massage Dad’s balls alongside her own, and her opposite hand jacked off the thick, veiny cock that pulsed just centimeters from their cheeks. Beth was so focused on trying to get her father off as quickly as possible, that when Summer abruptly sighed sweetly into the kiss, with a jolt of worry, Beth realized they were about to get them both in trouble if it seemed they were more interested in each other than Dad. Swiftly, she broke the kiss, pulled her daughter by the shoulder closer to Dad’s groin, and yanked her down onto his cock beside her, slobbering open mouthed across his shaft as she gave Summer a ‘look’ and then darted her eyes down to what she was doing in a none-too-subtle hint.

Summer cooperated, and even eagerly joined her mother, but was now motivated entirely by the idea of finishing Grandpa Rick, and then finding solace in her mother’s arms…hopefully she could convince the pretty blond to sleep with her in her bedroom instead of going back to her sniveling father. The vision of warm cuddles and a gentle sleep…and maybe…something more…all with the beautiful woman beside her compelled Summer to redouble her previously lackluster efforts.

Beth's concern might have been justified in a different situation, but for now Rick felt oddly proud seeing his daughter and granddaughter share what even a cynic like himself could only call _a moment._ "That's it," he crooned, although he felt that whatever the two of them were doing, he in no way featured in it despite being its chief orchestrator. That was all fine -- he didn't mind that his family got closer to each other. He wasn't worried there'd be any mutiny anytime soon, so let them find a little comfort in each other's arms. Less aftercare for him.

At any rate, they seemed to remember his presence quickly enough, and he groaned at the feeling of two hot, wet mouths working his cock simultaneously. It wasn't even so much that it felt better than a normal blowjob -- Rick, personally, was quite a big fan of being deep-throated, which was by its very nature a one-person operation -- but there was something so disgusting about it, intergenerational lips meeting around the meat of his cock, the girls' drool mixing in a puddle on the floor. He wondered if they remembered this was supposed to be a competition between the two of them. Really, with the performance they were giving, he was a little tempted to call that particular part of the evening off -- but he didn't go back on a promise, and he figured it was only fair to remind them.

"Right now you're tied," he sighed. "Ugh -- that, that's good, Beth, that's real good." He buried his fingers in both the girls' hair, one hand on each head, and gave them a little jerk. "It's gonna be hard to choose," he said, "which -- which one of you is gonna, gonna have to go to bed crying. _Fuck,_ Summer -- that's, do that again, shit." He could feel his balls tightening under the slender fingers massaging them, his cock giving its tell-tale warning twitch that proceedings would be coming to a head, and soon. "I-I'm -- I'm close. Y-y-you better, you better not waste any of it, you hear me?"

Beth rolled her eyes beneath closed lids as her father continued to make demands in a husky, throaty voice that alerted her he was approaching his limit. Truth be told, she had entirely forgotten that for one of them was still due another trip over her father’s knee, and the mere thought of enduring still more spanking made her nauseous. She glanced sideways at Summer who was carrying on as if she hadn’t even heard the ominous promise. Suddenly worried that she was being outdone by her daughter, Beth tried to increase her standing, and her deft fingers slipped past the sagging balls Summer was still juggling, and massaged into her father’s perineum with firm, quick strokes.

The extra attention and stimulation did the trick, because her father violently shook as he approached orgasm beneath their sloppy, wet activity.

Summer noticed her mother giving it her all, and subsequently backed off slightly, while still licking and sucking amidst the mess between Grandpa Rick’s legs. When he jerked forward in the beginnings of orgasm, Summer placed a hand against his shaft and jacked him off to help him along, but it was her mother who caught the first strings of sticky cum against the flat of her tongue as she faced Grandpa Rick with an open mouth. Summer lapped up the rest that spurted like a fountain down his slicked shaft, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste—acrid when compared to the luscious mouth of her mother from just minutes prior. It was the recent memory of that kiss that obliged Summer to pull her mother forward into another kiss; this time with the very tip of Grandpa Rick’s cock sandwiched between their lips. But for Summer, feeling her mother’s mouth, even in this compromised fashion was heavenly, particularly because of what could possibly be coming next.

Rick came with a groan which melted into a deeply contented sigh. He watched his cum paint Beth's tongue and grinned lecherously, only baring more teeth as Summer immediately jumped in to clean off his dick. When their lips met around his cockhead, he couldn't suppress a shudder, a bit miffed that now the girls would know they'd actually gotten to him a little. Still, he let them have their kiss -- it was pretty hot anyway, and Rick could tell Summer wasn't doing it to impress him. She seemed to genuinely want to shove her tongue down her mother's throat.

He watched the girls for a few moments longer until even their soft lips were simply too much on his overstimulated cock, and he stood up, tucking himself back in his pants. "Good job," he said, running a hand through his slightly sweaty hair. "And now f-for the, the grand finale. Can I get a drumroll?" He looked down at the poor girls at his mercy. "No?"

Silence descended on the three of them as Rick looked between the two of them, clearly trying to make up his mind. Finally he nodded, apparently having made up his mind. "Y-you, you did a great job, Summer," he began, patting her head condescendingly, "but not good enough." Immediately, he put one foot up on the sofa and yanked Summer to her feet by her hair. He pulled her over his thigh, her legs and arms dangling uselessly. "Gimme a number, Beth," he commanded. "Winner takes all and all that."

Beth winced in sympathy as Summer yelped loudly, yanked up by her hair and tossed unceremoniously over Dad’s thigh to sway precariously, awaiting still more spanking. The initial wave of relief at having won the cock guzzling contest had been brief, and now Beth only felt a deep sense of guilt that she was somehow responsible. Her daughter’s bottom was already, frankly, destroyed—mottled with bruising that stretched from the very top of her fat ass down to mid-thigh; for a moment Beth wondered at the scenario of offering to take Summer’s spanking for her, but Beth had a nasty feeling that her father would just paddle away at both their asses yet again if she tried to interfere.

“Uhh—“ Beth’s mouth opened and closed uselessly for a second as she tried to think of an acceptable number. Too low, and Summer would suffer an increased amount, a lesson she had already witnessed firsthand thanks to Jerry’s consistent ineptitude. Too high, and Summer would needlessly endure a harsh spanking for the third time in a row. With her motherly instincts screaming at her to somehow, someway stop what was about to occur, Beth managed to stammer out “Ahh—t-twen-t-twenty, Dad?”

Twenty seemed high enough to not warrant Dad adding on extra, but still hopefully a low enough number to maybe be manageable. Still, as the number left Beth’s mouth, she cringed at herself and felt her stomach clench in anticipation to watch Summer bear up under the ‘grand finale.’

But Summer, despite already being teary-eyed and whimpering, had a small smile on her face as she hung limply over Grandpa Rick’s elevated leg. This was her karmic debt repaid. She had managed to underperform just enough to not avoid suspicion but also save her mother more punishment, and although she knew that hell itself was approaching and about to descend onto her naked, abused bottom, the third generation of Sanchez spirit was rather self-satisfied. It was this sense of accomplishment in the face of terror that filled Summer with a tiny sense of calm, and breathing deeply, trying to proactively catch the breath she knew she would lose once Grandpa Rick began, Summer steeled herself bravely. Glancing up and behind her slightly, she saw Grandpa Rick staring straight ahead at her mother, and hoping to reassure her, Summer quickly, subtly, flashed a thumbs-up off to the side, out of her grandfather’s line of sight.

Beth saw the gesture, but kept her features in check, even as she realized with a sudden rush that Summer may have purposefully tried to save her mother’s ass by offering her own. With the practiced manner of a surgeon, Beth kept her face neutral, but her eyes watered.

Rick Sanchez had many faults -- he was well aware of this, and he was sure that in his absence, his family discussed his various shortcomings too. He was callous and insensitive and stubborn, selfish and violent and sardonic -- but, and this was perhaps the worst fault of all, he was contradictory. As he put one firm hand on Summer's back to keep her steady as she balanced over his thigh, and raised the other, he paused.

He'd promised them there'd be another spanking. But with the way they both were now, it felt wrong to administer yet more punishment. They hadn't really done anything to earn it, and now that he'd had his relief, his heart wasn't in it at all. However, he'd promised, and he definitely couldn't go back on a promise. (Why not? Well, why would he?) He lowered his hand again, still keeping Summer in her precarious position as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Twenty," he repeated. "Well, let's see." He put one hand on Summer's ass, kneading the bruised flesh with something approaching pity, and hummed quietly. "Well, let's see. Giving me such a sloppy blowjob -- that, that's five. And making out with your own mother, that, that's gotta be ten. Another two for forgetting about me -- and then another two for not even apologizing." He paused once more and then smiled, a small smile dripping with something too depraved to be paternal care. "That makes nineteen. Twenty -- twenty minus nineteen, leaves -- leaves one."

And his hand came down, hard and firm as always, but only once -- and then he almost caringly put Summer back on her feet, and gave her a little push. "I-I trust we all learned something here," he said, not specifying what lesson might have been learned. "Now fuck off, both of you."

Summer hadn't even had time to react to that one resounding smack before suddenly she found herself standing (albeit unsteadily) on her own two feet. When it slowly occurred to her that she really _had_ just gotten off with a one-swat-spanking, her mouth dropped open in surprise. Part of her, a strange, uncomfortable voice deep inside protested that she wasn't in fact done, but beside her, her mother was nodding hard, blond curls shaking back and forth.

"Oh yes, Dad. Definitely--definitely learned uh--" she let the sentence die before it made its way out of her mouth. With her daughter still standing shell-shocked, Beth turned on her heel, swept up their discarded clothes into her arms, and firmly grasped Summer by the elbow.

"Good night, Dad." Beth tried to sound cute but she was thoroughly exhausted, "er...thhhank..thank you--" she pulled Summer after her while raising her eyebrow.

Summer picked up on the hint and offered a similarly timid "uh, thanks Grandpa Rick?" Before her mother succeeded in pulling her out of the room and toward the stairs.

"Come _on,"_ Beth hustled the redhead up the first few steps, "just get upstairs honey,"

Summer whirled, mid-step, "wait, are you coming to my room?"

Beth paused, seemed to struggle with the question before nodding quickly and shoving Summer's naked back, "yes, fine, whatever, Summer let's just _go_ oh my god."

Visibly brightened, Summer bounded up the rest of the stairs to her room, followed by her more measured mother who winced with each step she took. Once Beth was inside, Summer closed the door to her bedroom and in a repeat performance of several weeks earlier, flopped face-first onto her bed.

Beth hesitated, wondered if she should be comforting...or really if she should even be in here, but her sleepiness won out, and she stretched out beside her daughter in a matching position. With a gentle hand she brushed some of Summer's hair off her forehead and hummed sympathetically. "Are you ok honey?"

"Can I like, skip school tomorrow?"

"You'll have to ask Rick."

"Ugh." Summer pressed her cheek into the pillow and pouted, but not before sliding closer to her mother on the bed--close enough that their sides touched.

Perhaps misery loves company, or perhaps the debauchery of Rick Sanchez was rubbing off on everybody, but when Summer leaned in, softly, almost curiously, her mother travelled the rest of the way and their mouths met in an almost innocent kiss. 

Beth's hand smoothed down her daughter's back and resting against the highest curve of her battered bottom, Beth couldn't help but squeeze ever so gently.

It prompted an open mouthed groan--half pained, half grateful, as their kiss deepened and they snuggled, squished side by side on Summer's bed.


	8. Jerrylicious, Definition: Make Them Ricks Go Loco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerry has managed to escape the brunt of Rick's wrath so far. Still, he can run, but he can't hide... bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the first episode of season three, it's clear that Justin Roiland has read this fic and fully supports our endeavor to turn Rick into the worst patriarch of all time. Hi, Justin!

Rick was relaxed. Or at least, as relaxed as he ever allowed himself to be--never a good idea to completely turn off as he had far too many enemies in the wide, wild universe to ever feel truly at peace. But for a pleasant tuesday morning, and three drinks in over a plate of pancakes Beth had left for him in the fridge before taking herself to work, Rick was as relaxed as he was able to be.

That is, until he heard the unmistakable grunt, groan, and creaking bed springs that announced Jerry had finally decided to rouse himself from sleep. Just like that, Rick's relaxed demeanor transformed to irritated. Christ, that man slunk around the house all day every day and couldn't even be bothered to wake up before ten am? The old man's sharp eyes glanced around the cluttered kitchen...Jerry barely even did chores except for when Beth chased him down. 

Upstairs the bathroom toilet flushed, and then after a few slow steps, the bed creaked again as Jerry climbed back in. Rick swallowed the last of his breakfast, put his dishes in the sink, and the hollered at the top of his voice:

"JERRY YOU LAZY S-EUUURRRP-ON OF A BITCH GET DOWNSTAIRS RIGHT NOW."

Look, Jerry knew he wasn't the most stellar husband or dad out there. After he lost his job, he really did try for a while to find a new one, but it was discouraging to be rejected again and again by increasingly shitty companies. He was too uneducated or inexperienced for good jobs and too old for crappy jobs. After a while he just sort of gave up. He might have searched a little harder if it had looked like he was putting his family at a disadvantage, but everything continued as normal -- Beth made more than enough for the two of them. So why even try?

Scratching his ass through his pajama pants -- tartan, a perhaps old-fashioned choice for a guy his age, especially if they looked eighteen like he did -- and was just about to crawl back into bed when he heard Rick bellowing from downstairs. After that initial spanking, Jerry had avoided any and all further punishments -- unless you counted having to watch your wife getting railed by your father-in-law as a punishment (which he did, and a cruel and unusual one too). He figured that if he just played by Rick's rules, he'd be okay, and so far he'd been correct. It had been weeks after all!

One rule he followed to the letter was that when Rick required him to be somewhere, he hauled ass to get there immediately. Now too he was practically slipping down the stairs before Rick had even finished his sentence, almost tripping over his own feet as he slid into the kitchen, his hair still messy and his face a little puffy with sleep. "Rick?" he panted, out of breath. "Did - did you need me for something?"

Rick was standing in the center if the kitchen, arms crossed, eyebrow low over his eyes as he watched his middling excuse for a son-in-law bluster into the kitchen with all the grace of a newborn deer. 

"I suppose at least at y-your new job they can count on you to arrive promptly Je-eugh-rry." He remarked dryly.

At Jerry's confused expression, Rick nodded, slowly, almost pityingly, as if he were explaining something complex to a particularly stupid child. "Yes Jerry, your _new_ job."

Rick took a few steps closer, even from several feet away Jerry seemed positively diminutive to Rick. It might've been from being de-aged, but then Jerry tended to shrink a bit whenever Rick entered a room regardless of his age. 

"Now wh-when you and Beth made that terrible decision to mess around in _my_ garage, I noted that it was-it was an _opportunity,_ do you know what an opportunity is Jerry? An opportunity to install some real, re-real improvements in this house, and thanks to me, -uurp- I'm happy to say everyone has tightened up considerably, except for you."

He stepped closer, and bared his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile, "n-now, I accept the blame Jerry, y-you ha-euuagh-aven't been properly motivated yet, but ole Rick is gonna help-help you out." Rick paused and made stern eye contact with Jerry, "sound like a plan, Jerry?"

Jerry drew up his shoulders like a turtle retreating into its shell with every step Rick took in his direction. Evidently he'd done something wrong -- Rick's attitude was nothing short of terrifying and Jerry racked his brain to try and remember what he could possibly have done upset his disciplinarian. No, his father-in-law. Both? He opened his mouth to try and protest or ask for clarification, but could only emit a tiny squeak as Rick approached even further, properly towering over him, Jerry being hunched over with anxiety.

"A job?" he finally managed, staring at Rick wide-eyed. "Like, y-you -- you want to go through the wanted ads together? I mean, we-we totally can if you want to. We should, actually, that sounds like a really great idea. Maybe -- I, should I put some clothes on? I could-I can be ready in five, and -- we can, you-you can help me."

A job. Jerry didn't want a job at all. At least it'd be an excuse to be out of the house for a little while each day though and to not have to worry about calling down Rick's wrath. Maybe a job wouldn't be such a bad thing. And Rick was going to help him find one? It'd probably be something boring or gross, but it was a surprisingly nice gesture anyway. "Thanks, Rick," he said meekly.

Rick barked a laugh and fished his flask out of his labcoat. "Ssseriously Jerry? Y-you can't--can't even be bothered to attempt this on your own? Jesus you're in worse shape than I thought--"

He downed the liquid in his flask, set the small container on the table and with a swift flick of his wrist, twisted Jerry around by the shoulder and then bent him right over the table beside his flask.

"Today, Jerry," Rick accompanied his preamble with a bakers dozen of hard, fast smacks to the worn pajama bottoms, "you will look for a job. I d-dont care how, wh-eugh-ere, or what, but you, on your _own_ will find find a job."

Rick paused, lifted his leg, and hooking his heel in the waistband of Jerry's pajama pants, roughly yanked them to the floor. To the trembling bottom before him encased in white underwear, Rick delivered another dozen smacks, harder still, talking over the cacophony as if he was having a conversation over lunch.

"You _will_ endeavor to get a job in a timely manner, Jerry. Out of the goodness of my heart I am p-providing motivation, so y-you're welcome Jerry."

Pausing again, Rick straightened, and eyed the kitchen counters, his gaze finding a suitable tool in moments. "Stand up pull your underwear down, then bend back over the table, I intend to make my point."

Jerry only registered the danger that lurked right around the corner the second before Rick forced him down on the table, and that was far too late. Not that he had any idea as to what he could have done differently if he'd been able to predict Rick's actions. Run away? And then what? Get in even more trouble? Still the thought crossed his mind, and then there wasn't any room in his head for any thoughts whatsoever, because the only thing lighting up his neurons was pain, pain, pain.

"No!" he shouted, scrabbling at the slippery top of the table to try and push himself off. "Rick, Rick -- no, please, stop! Stop -- _stop!!"_ To no avail. His ass was expertly set ablaze, and when he felt his pajama pants get pulled down, he started panicking in earnest. "I didn't do anything wrong!" he screamed, his voice breaking with the desperation in it, "I'm -- I followed-Rick, Rick please, no -- stop, stop...!!" But Rick's hand simply came down again, and again, and as Rick laid out the plan he'd devised for Jerry, Jerry nearly lost his mind.

Oh god. It didn't matter if he followed the rules or not. Rick would just make them up on the spot. Tearing up, more with terror than agony at that point, he was quick to take advantage of Rick's reprieve to whirl around and drop on his knees before him. He was going to weasel out of this by any means necessary -- his ass already hurt like a bitch, and this was nothing like what he knew Rick to be capable of. His fingers clutched at Rick's pant leg, and he stared up in tears, his mouth hanging open before he finally choked out: "I-I got it! I'll look for a job -- I'll find a job right now! Just -- just stop, I'll, I'll do anything! Please, Rick? I -- it's, it's, I get it, y-you're totally right, I'm -- I'm a waste, a-a waste of space, but I'll fix it, I promise, just -- please!!"

Rick exhaled deeply and wrenched his leg free from Jerry's grasp before snatching the thin metal spatula off the counter and whipping it through the air once or twice to get a feel for its weight. Internally he cursed his daughter for marrying such a sad sack of a man. A baked potato had a stronger sense of self-respect than Jerry. 

"I'm well aware you didn't break any rules Jerry, but," Rick narrowed his eyes, "Y-you realize you are breaking one now, hm? Follow my directions."

Where Jerry was panicked, Rick was the very picture of calm as he advanced on the already half-crying young man on the floor. Rick sneered; it hadn't been that hard, just a brisk smacking to get Jerry's attention; but now that he was carrying on, Rick had half a mind to really lay into him so at least the tears would be deserved. 

"This is a motivational spanking to g-eugh-ive you something to think about today, Jerry. S-sssomething to put some pep in that step, dawg. So I suggest," Rick smacked the spatula once against his hand, loudly, before continuing in a deadly voice barely above a whisper, "I _suggest_ you do what I asked you before your motivational spanking turns into a punishment."

"Nooooo!" Jerry wailed, and he only went quiet when he noticed the metal spatula in Rick's hand. That definitely got his attention, and he looked from the implement to his father-in-law, going pale. Motivational? That thing would have him bleeding, he was sure of it! Why was Rick being this horrible to him when he'd been so much better than the rest of the family?

Was it because he was the only one who hadn't helped Rick get off?

Jerry looked at the spatula again. The sound it made as it smacked Rick's palm had been absolutely horrid. Jesus, how would this motivate him? He felt half-faint already. "Please," he whimpered, and then inspiration struck. He tried to will the suggestion away, but between it and getting his ass beaten and sliced open by Rick, it seemed much better. Jerry was afraid of many things, but physical discomfort most of all. 

Before he knew it, his youthful fingers were fumbling with Rick's zipper. "I'll -- take care of you," he promised breathlessly. "I'm-I've never done it before but I'll try my best, and-and I'm sorry, just, just let me show you!"

As noted, Rick had begun his day in a relaxed mood, and it was only because of booze and Beth's pancakes that Jerry's behavior didn't make him more irate. Still, out of the many things that annoyed Rick, repeating himself was very high on the list. Reaching down, he grabbed a fistful of Jerry's hair and lifted him bodily, tossing him over and against the table, the spatula slamming down once on each cheek before Rick himself pulled Jerry's underwear to the floor.

"R-really Jerry?"

The spatula descended quite a bit harder than what Rick had originally planned, but now Jerry had pissed him off, if only mildly, and he would now suffer a sore ass for it. 

"Y-you think y-eugh-our shitty little cakehole and pathetic attempts at seduction are _tempting_ to me!?"

He paused whacking away at Jerry's behind and sliding the thin metal between his ass crack, Rick violently wiggled the spatula, having the dual effect of landing a few light, but stinging taps to the innermost part of Jerry's bottom, while also making his entire nether regions wobble and jiggle humiliatingly. 

"The difference," Rick belched and cleared his throat, _"One_ of the differences, b-between you and I Jerry, is I have standards."

Rick yanked out the spatula and swatted again, "you currently do not meet any of my standards." He fell silent to work on Jerry's quickly pinkening ass and after another ten smacks, paused again, and rested the flat metal against Jerry's skin, "I have a feeling this will motivate you to start living up to my very reasonable standards: holding a job, helping your wife with chores, and sure, the ability to give a descent blowjob." Rick pressed the spatula into Jerry, "sounds reasonable, huh Jerry? Think-think you can manage these barest of requirements?"

Jerry had been convinced that this particular move would work, and he was beside himself with terror when Rick immediately deposited him over the kitchen table to give him a proper work-over with the spatula. His underwear now gone as well, Jerry dissolved into tears, all pretense that he was the man of the house forgotten as Rick laid into him. "Plea-ea-eaaase," he hiccuped, shielding his head with his arms as if Rick might start beating him up properly any moment, "Rick -- Rick, I-I-I'm _sorryyyyy!!"_ And he was. Was he that loathsome to Rick that the promise of a blowjob not only didn't convince Rick, but actively made him angrier?

His head shot up as he felt the cool metal of the spatula slide between his cheeks, and he yelped as the thrumming metal stung the most sensitive and sheltered parts of him. It hurt, it _hurt,_ but it was almost more humiliating than it was painful, and he buried his fingers in his own hair, pulling on it in his despair.

The next few swats beat all resistance out of him, and Jerry simply hung limply, his head still cradled in his arms, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. And then the lecture -- he didn't meet any of Rick's standards? Not a single one? That hurt worse than the spanking -- it was as if Rick had slapped him in the face with the spatula, and he stared down at the wood grain of the table, wondering for the umpteenth time why his life was such a parade of humiliation and suffering.

"Yes!" he answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. He tried to swallow down the snot that made him sound nasal, but failed. "That-that-that sounds reasonable, and -- yes, I'll, I'll meet them, I'm -- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm... I'll, I'll find a job today, and-and I'll help Beth, and-and-and I-I'll do it all, Rick, just -- just let me, let me go, please!"

One more final smack with the spatula, and Rick, without looking, tossed it over his shoulder where it landed among the dirty dishes in the sink with a satisfying clatter. He grabbed Jerry by the back of his neck and wrenched him up, guiding him roughly over to the sink, but taking care that his legs didn’t get tangled in his pants and boxers that circled his ankles.

“Leave these down,” Rick tersely commanded, “a-and do the dishes. When you’re finished, clean yourself up and hit the bricks, Jerry.” Rick released his neck and stood back to admire his handiwork, even though there was precious little of it. He didn’t doubt that Jerry’s ass stung mightily at this point, but his bottom was _just_ blushing red and nothing more. For all his carrying on, Jerry had gotten off rather light, but Rick saw it as more of a prelude for later activity as he believed whole-heartedly that Jerry would probably disappoint him today.

“J-just for—eughh-just for further motivation, Jerry, at the end of the day, we’ll have a little family meeting so you can tell me all about what you did today.” Rick’s tone was conversational, lightly ambiguous—in another universe this could be an encouraging missive, but here, at this moment, it simply seemed like the foreshadowing of terrible events.

With a final, satisfied nod, and the genuine (but misplaced) hope that perhaps Jerry would prove him wrong and actually get something significant done today besides wallow in his own slothfulness, Rick turned on his heel and left.

Jerry was left on his own, and although he knew he only had precious little time to accomplish all that Rick had commanded him to do, he couldn't even get started on the first and most straightforward task. His hands clutched the edge of the sink, and he hung his head, sobbing softly and feeling supremely sorry for himself. A family meeting! He remembered the last few family meetings. Somehow they always seemed to involve someone getting their ass beat. It hadn't been him so far, but today that would change -- unless he found a job. And of course he wouldn't find a job! He looked like a teenager and he couldn't even count on his CV to carry him through an interview.

He'd have to apply for teenager-type jobs. And lie about his age. Work at a fast food place for absolute peanuts. That's what he had to look forward to -- being bossed around by someone half his age, plastering a fake smile on his face for rude customers, being spat on and yelled at and humiliated. That'd be his daily working life. And then whenever he came home, he'd get to walk on eggshells around Rick while the rest of the family ignored him. For a moment, Jerry considered running away. He was certain Rick wouldn't chase him down -- he'd probably be happy to see him leave. But where would he go? What could he do? And then he'd never see Beth or his kids again!

As his thoughts spiralled further and further, he at least got to doing the dishes, taking a bit more time to clean the spatula as if cleaning it would undo all the damage the implement had done. When he finally finished, he showered -- wincing at the water hitting his sore ass -- and got dressed, spent an hour creating a fake CV for Jerry Smith, Local Eighteen-Year Old, and -- as Rick had instructed -- hit the bricks. And he did admirably, too -- it was only after his third rejection from Subway (the shift manager throwing his CV in the trash right before his eyes) that he had to start wiping away unhelpful tears as he continued.


	9. Jerry Does a "Good" Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone described this fic as "madcap" and we think it's rather fitting. Cheers to you our lovely reader, thank you for coming along for the ride so far!

From his workshop in the garage, Rick could dimly hear the noises of Jerry putting himself together, showering, and then heading out the front door after what seemed like an inordinate amount of time to get ready. He was mildly surprised his son-in-law managed to make it out of the house, as Rick honestly assumed he’d accidentally fall asleep upstairs for the whole day—that’s how little faith Rick had in Jerry. By noon, he had left the house and gone errand-running on various planets, stopping half-way through to portal to Morty’s school, snatch his grandson up, and continue running a few more errands. It was just before dinnertime that Rick and Morty returned home.

Seated at the head of the table (that he had taken after instituting his rules throughout the house—it seemed fitting), Rick folded his hands on the table and calmly informed his family,

“After dinner, w-we will be having a li-urgp-little family meeting. I expect everyone to be in their pajamas,” he paused to give a meaningful look at Beth, “and seated in the living room ready by eight pm.”

Without waiting for affirmation, Rick thanked Beth for cooking dinner and then promptly began eating. He was hungry from a busy, activity-laden day. Over his forkfuls of food, Rick watched Jerry from the corner of his eye with disguised interest. The past few days at the house had been quiet and uneventful, so Rick’s spanking arm was still fully-rested, even taking into account the short smacking he’d bestowed on Jerry this morning.

Jerry had tried. He really had. He had left CVs at every last shitty fast food place in town, and he'd been promised by some of them that he'd get a phone call from them if anything freed up. The manager at the local Burger King had said she was expecting something to open up in a week or so, and that she'd be sure to contact Jerry when it did. Jerry had barely been able to keep himself from breaking down as he thanked the lady. A week! He needed something tonight. And as that had begun to look more and more impossible, so too had Jerry become more and more hysterical.

It was nearing five when he finally realized he'd have to go home empty-handed. Home, which now meant _back to Rick_ , and _back to Rick,_ which now meant _to get his ass beat._ He dragged his feet all the way home, and stood looking at the driveway from a few houses away for quite a while before he finally, finally gathered the courage to enter his own house. His heart felt like a tight fist in his chest, and his breaths came too fast. If Jerry had known about such things, he'd have known he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Rick, however, had ignored him. Jerry almost permitted himself to believe that all was forgotten as he sat down to have dinner with his family, until Rick announced the family meeting. He stared down at his plate, pale-faced. If the others noticed, they didn't let it show. Jerry managed to eat about three bites, and spent the rest of dinner time looking down at the table, only speaking when spoken to.

After dinner, he retreated upstairs, and put on the requested pajamas.

"Do you know what this is about?" Beth asked as she slipped into her own nightie. She made an act of sounding unaffected, but Jerry could tell she was as nervous as he was, and felt somehow responsible.

"It's about me," he said, sounding rather more hollow and self-pitying than he'd like. "So don't worry." And with that, he made his way downstairs to take a seat in the living room before the others.

Rick busied himself after dinner with mixing a dangerously strong cocktail of exotic, alien alcoholic liquids and poured the contents into his flask before heading into the living room. 

The assembled Smiths looked uneasy, minus Morty; who had a fairly good hunch that he at least was in the clear--he'd been with Rick all day which didn't leave much room for misbehavior as it would've already been taken care of by now. Rick narrowed his eyes as his gaze rested on Beth, however, and taking a long sip from his flask, and capping it, he strode to the couch and lifted her bodily out of her seat by her upper arm. Still holding his errant girl with a firm grip, Rick dragged a straight back chair to the center of the room, sat down, and then proceeded to strip her silently and swiftly. Ignoring her resistance and complaining, he then tipped her over his knee and began with one loud, solid swat.

"It seems," he stated quietly, "you are a bit forgetful sweetie." Rick smacked again, harder, "let me remind you what your pajamas are."

He proceeded to thoroughly spank Beth as she wriggled over his knee, taking care to extend his swats from the very top of her bottom to the backs of her thighs, sincerely annoyed that this was a repeat lesson. Over the din of her punishment, Rick shot a placid look at the rest, "w-would anyone like to remind Beth what she is supposed to wear to bed? Anyone? No?"

Rick paused to give her a sharp pinch, "you'll have to remember on your own, then Beth. Tell me, what are you supposed to wear to bed?"

Beth truly, honestly hadn't meant to disrespect her father by forgetting his rules. She'd just figured they didn't apply to family meetings -- it had seemed ludicrous for her to sit on the couch naked while the others all wore pajamas. Surely her father couldn't have been imagining that when he called the family meeting. Presuming herself innocent -- and feeling a little relieved after Jerry's morose admission that he'd be the recipient of Rick's wrath -- she'd sat down on the couch, only to make eye contact with her father and immediately realize her mistake.

"Dad, no!" she tried, feeling in her heart of hearts that all attempts to dissuade her father from punishing her would be fruitless. "I-I misunderstood -- please, please, I'll, I can undress now!" But it seemed her dad had relieved her from those duties as well as he stripped her, and pulled her over his lap for a spanking that Beth regretted all the more because it had been so entirely avoidable.

Beth tried to stay strong, but Rick wasn't going easy on her -- even her sensitive thighs got a work-over, and although she managed to keep herself from sobbing, she couldn't help tearing up and calling out apologies with every new .hard swat. When he finally paused, she was almost thankful, and she was quick to respond: "Nothing -- nothing! I'm supposed to wear nothing, and-and I'm sorry, dad, I-I misunderstood...!" She braced herself for the next phase of her punishment, and silently agreed with herself to just throw away her pajamas so she couldn't make the same mistake again

Jerry, meanwhile, was experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions that had him reeling. He'd been sure that he was in for it, but Rick had ignored him entirely and gone straight for Beth. Did that mean he was in the clear? Maybe Rick realized how hard he'd tried out there and decided to be a little lenient! That was possible, right? Maybe this whole meeting was just to put Beth in her place. He clutched his pajama pants tightly.

Rick finished with a searing half dozen swats, all against the crease on the back of Beth's legs where her bottom met her thighs before pulling her up and sternly looking at her flushed, slightly teary face as she stood between his legs.

"Do not make me repeat this lesson, Beth. If you forget, and I see you in pajamas again, I will _remind_ you every night for a week." He turned her around and with a final smack, pushed her toward the couch. "Take a seat."

Having now captured the attention of all present, Rick offered a dangerous smile and folded his hands in his lap. "Now, I can't be on top of all of you every day. I have-I'm a busy person; so moving forward, every week or so, we will have a family meeting to discuss our activities," he cleared his throat, "or lack thereof. If I see any issues or problems, or perhaps, even achievements I will offer motivation or congratulations as I see fit."

Rick leaned back in his chair, "Morty you were with me today, so you're all set. Summer, let's hear from you, then Beth, then Jerry will finish."

Summer looked at her grandfather dubiously. Her mother was trying to play things cool, but she looked red-faced and thoroughly cowed as she sat on the couch, shielding her tits from the prying eyes around her. This meeting was just full of surprises, and after her recent belting, Summer had no intentions whatsoever of getting on Rick's bad side. What would he want to hear anyway? Activities and achievements? She was in high school, what was there to say about that? She shrugged uncomfortably. "Um, I just went to school today. We, uh, we did Shaw in English, and we did some trig in Math. I don't know. Just, like, a normal day? I guess?"

She hoped the answer would satisfy her grandfather and glanced at her mother, whose punishment had been recent enough that she immediately jumped to attention. "I went to work," Beth announced, a bit too quickly, "and there -- there'd been some kind of accident on a trail, three horses involved. They're recovering just fine. And I came home and made dinner." Beth glanced at her father, and decided to play things safe: "And then I forgot I'm not supposed to wear pajamas. So I got punished." She submissively cast her eyes down. Hopefully that'd be enough to avoid more repercussions.

Jerrys mouth had gone dry as his wife and daughter talked about their days. His mind raced as he tried to come up with good excuses, reasons for his ineptitude, but he came up short. In fact, trying to explain himself might just anger Rick further. So when his turn came, he was quiet and resigned. "I tried really hard to find a job," he said, barely above a whisper. "I-I must've applied at twenty places. But I didn't find anything. And-and I know I let you down."

Rick listened calmly, interjecting only with an occasional grunt. With the reports concluded, Rick nodded, "acceptable; Summer, I w-want you to start bringing grades and report cards to me. Morty is my assistant so frankly, I don't care about his piss-poor grades, but I expect high grades from you. Do not disappoint me."

He turned to Beth, and allowed not quite a smile, but a kind expression pass his features for a fleeting second --she had answered best after all, and damn it her sweet, distressed face, and beautiful set of boobs really went a long way toward making Rick feel more charitable toward her even if she kept stupidly forgetting instructions. "Thank you, Beth."

Turning finally to Jerry, he sighed long and loud. "D-do you mean to tell me Jerry, you simply applied to endless entry positions without prior research?" Rick rubbed his temple and crooked his finger at Jerry, "the point of our talk this morning was that you be motivated to self-improve and actually make progress, not spin uselessly in place."

Rick's eyes darkened, "y-you were so scared about getting spanked for not doing something, you instead filled your day doing stupid things. I mean, j-jesus Jerry, have you forgotten how to job search correctly? Do I n-need to-huh, do I need to spell it out for you?" Rick patted his lap, "c'mon then, let's talk."

It wasn't even Rick's description of his panicked job search as _stupid_ that had Jerry flustering (although it certainly didn't help). It was the way the rest of the family looked at him. He knew he'd gotten off easy so far, and he'd definitely witnessed all three of them get punished on more than one occasion. He wondered if they felt any sympathy for him at all, and ventured a glance at Beth, whose face betrayed nothing. His heart sank. They were probably happy to see Rick focus on him.

He got up, a little shakily, and stood in front of Rick, wringing his hands. Part of him was still convinced that he could explain the situation in a way that'd change Rick's mind, that if he only made a speech that was good enough he'd even be able to undo the whole mess starting in the first place, and he and Beth would be the ones in charge of the household once more, Rick reduced to the aging parent they deigned to let stay in the garage. If only he could find the right words.

"I'm sorry," he croaked. "I-I thought I just needed to, to find a job." He looked at Rick, and with blood rushing in his ears, lay down over his lap. In his tartan pajamas, he somehow felt more exposed than if he had been naked. He only just managed to touch his toes and fingertips to the floor, and he hung his head in resignation, trembling a little with the anticipation of it. The spanking he'd gotten that morning was fresh in his mind, and that had just been a motivational spanking -- this one was to be a punishment. He'd seen the things a disciplinarian Rick could do to a person, and he couldn't hold back a small whimper. "I'm really sorry," he said again. "I-I, I tried, Rick."

Did he only imagine the exasperated sigh he heard in response to that? It hadn't sounded like it came from Rick. His stomach churned. Wasn't he supposed to be the man of the house? What kind of example was he setting here? It was no surprise the others were disappointed with him, really.

Rick didn’t respond to Jerry’s miserable, self-pitying apologies and simply sat unmoved as he waited for his errant son-in-law to present himself for punishment. It was inconceivable to Rick that Jerry had somehow evolved to be this craven—surely with the amount of disappointment life dealt him he should be made of stronger stuff, yet here he was, trembling, moaning, already near tears…

“Christ, Jerry, would you sack up?” Rick smacked dead center, once, and hard, before hooking all four fingers into the waistbands of Jerry’s pants and boxers, pulling them down to the floor. He paused for the briefest of moments to appreciate the ass offered up to him. Being de-aged had dramatically improved Jerry’s general physical attractiveness, and the tight tush shaped by an athletic pursuit of some sort was exactly the kind of young man’s bottom that Rick found a lot of pleasure stretching to its limits.

Jerry wriggled embarrassingly over his lap and Rick rolled his eyes. It wasn’t very fun to break down someone already so broken. He swatted again, and pulled an injured yelp from Jerry. Well—it was still a _bit_ fun. Rick quickly got to work on Jerry’s bottom, already fully healed from early, and ripe for another punishment.

“Jerry, this-theeghh-is is deplorable. Your own daughter has been subjected to more horrors at my hand and she doesn’t cringe and whimper as much as you do.” To drive the point home, Rick increased his strength and seared two dozen blisteringly hard swats into Jerry’s rear before pausing again to intone, “If you’re s-so determined to be scared, then I’ll happily oblige and give you something to really be scared of, Jerry.”

He swatted again, “This is _nothing,”_ and again, “Y-you’re nervous and fainting over a bit of spanking, imagine if I decided to give you an actual tough punishment.” Rick leaned over, wrenched Jerry’s head up by a fistful of hair, and twisted his head so he was looking over at his family seated on the couch, “Morty, why don’t you –euurp- don’t you share with your father what a real punishment is like?”

Jerry definitely didn't need the reminder of his own flesh and blood being so much better-equipped to deal with Rick's hard hand. The flurry of swats that followed Rick's derision just made that realization even worse, as Jerry couldn't take them stoically in the least -- unable to cry out in response to every smack in turn (so quickly did they follow each other), Jerry elected to yowl the entire time instead. _Something to be scared of…_ Didn't Rick realize that he was already a terrifying presence in Jerry's life?

The hand in his hair came as a surprise and Jerry gasped in shock as his head was forced up. Tears were streaming down his face freely already, and he looked between his family members wild-eyed and humiliated, trying to read their faces for traces of sympathy or, at the very least, pity. He found none. Summer had averted her eyes and mostly seemed uncomfortable, Beth fixed him with a blank stare, and Morty just fidgeted with his hands in his lap until Rick addressed him directly.

"Aw jeez, Rick," Morty mumbled, shooting his grandfather a pleading (and ineffective) look. "I, I mean..." But Rick was not to be mollified. Morty sighed, forced himself to look at his mess of a father (ugh, he felt ashamed just _seeing_ his dad like that) and let the assorted punishments he'd experienced at Rick's hands pass his mind's eye. Not the most pleasant of trips down memory lane, but Rick was clearly in a mood, and Morty had no intention of incurring his wrath.

"Well, dad," he began, biting his lip as he glanced towards his mother and sister. This was going to be embarrassing to recount. "Um, when -- when y-you've really messed up, Rick doesn't just spank you. He -- sometimes y-y-you have to kneel on rice for, for ages, or he'll -- he'll put this, this cream in your underwear, and-and it _burns."_ He takes a deep breath. He doesn't want to add the thing Rick's threatened on very rare occasions -- fucking him with a toilet brush.

Rick successfully concealed a particularly nasty smile as he himself briefly reminisced over Morty naked, whimpering, and red-bottomed kneeling amongst a pile of rice. People in acute distress were just so damn delicious, especially when it was Rick causing said distress. 

He chatted lightly with Morty as he continued to swat away at Jerry beneath him. "So shy, Morty. Too embarrassed to discuss the times spent in corners with your ass full of ginger?" Rick released Jerry's hair to wrap his hand around his son-in-law's waist and pull him closer and hold him firmly as the smacks rained down unabated. "Not even going t-to mention the time I had you get down on your knees and beg me very nicely for a thrashing every night for a week? No? Don't remember, or don't _want_ to remember?"

Rick wasn't looking for an answer and instead shifted Jerry further over his lap so he could give some solid attention to the backs of his wiggling thighs, all the way down to the hollows of his knees. "Stop squirming," he sharply commanded, pausing his swats to give Jerry a good pinch before picking up the pace again. His hand was beginning to burn with the effort, but given that Jerry's tolerance was so terrible and Rick wanted to spend a good chunk of time on this particular issue, his hand would have to do for now.

Morty flustered and furtively looked at his sister and mother. Summer gave him a sympathetic half-smile, and Beth still kept her eyes focused on Rick, but there was a certain hardness in the lines around her mouth that had not been there before. "Sorry, Rick," he said meekly, just relieved that his part in this terrifying scene was apparently over. 

Unfortunately Jerry's part, it seemed, was just beginning. He was now weeping with abandon. The fear has mostly left him -- this was happening, and he was powerless to stop it, so there really wasn't anything to fear anymore. Both Morty's descriptions of Rick's more creative punishments and Rick's little addendum had barely registered. 

He tried to keep still, the searing smacks to his thighs particularly motivational, and found he could only accomplish that by sticking his legs out straight and crossing his ankles. This way, his weight rested almost entirely on Rick's lap -- especially when he took his hands off of the floor to penitently clutch Rick's pant leg instead. Barely audible through the tears and the snot, he sobbed: "I-I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Rick -- p-pleeeaaase, _pleeaaaaase,_ I'm-I'm sorry, I-I'm _sorry!!"_ It was little more than a meaningless mantra at this point, and it only took a few more minutes before Jerry was physically and emotionally exhausted, going limp over Rick's lap but continuing his pathetic sniveling and tensing with every particularly stinging swat.

Rick stopped and rested his palm against the hot flesh of Jerry's penitent bottom, and took the opportunity to glance at the family's faces. Morty looked relieved and resigned, Summer was definitely not pleased with the evening's entertainment but a few spankings had wonderfully tempered her attitude. Beth looked a bit peeved, and ever observant, Rick nearly chuckled when he realized it was due to jealousy. Inspiration struck, and he pulled his hands back. 

"Up." And when Jerry took longer than one second to spring to attention, Rick snagged him by the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. But Jerry didn't remain standing for long as Rick also stood, and forced Jerry down to his knees with his back against the seat of the chair. Then, with a low grunt of effort, Rick simply leaned over and grasped the backs of Jerry's knees, hoisting up so his back lay flat against the seat and his legs stuck straight up in the air, his bottom and his sack on full display for the room. 

"Beth, come here." Rick held up Jerry's legs by his ankles with one hand as he swiftly pulled his belt through his pant loops with the other. "Hold Jerry's legs up for me. If he wiggles away and you lose your grip, you will be taking his place."

It all went too quickly for Jerry to realize what was happening before he was lying down on the seat of the chair, his head bent uncomfortably. He craned his neck to try and see what was happening, but then came Rick's command for Beth to hold him. Almost immediately his wife's strong hands wrapped around his ankles and she pushed them back firmly, lifting Jerry's ass up even more.

And then the sound of the belt. 

Jerry was dumb, but not that dumb, and he tried to escape -- but Beth heeded her father's words well and proved immovable. "Nooooooo!" he wailed, keenly aware of how vulnerable his balls were in this position. "Rick, no, no, no -- I'll, I'm sorry, I'll do everything differently, I'll do everything you say, all of it!! D-d-don't belt me, don't belt me, please!" 

To no avail, and Jerry stared at his father-in-law in horror. Did he really deserve all this? God, and how often would he be in this position? Rick had promised to give him some pointers but maybe he'd just meant this. Jerry's mouth pulled into a tortured grimace as he realized he'd mess up again, inevitably -- and he'd end up in this position again, also inevitably. 

His next plea was in a much smaller voice: "Please, Rick," he whimpered, "don't -- not, not my buh-buh-balls, please, please."

Beth rolled her eyes at that. She definitely didn't want to take Jerry's place -- luckily he was a weakling she could easily keep in position. She looked down at her husband's teary face. Ugh. He hadn't even felt the belt yet!

Truthfully, Rick hadn't even considered smacking the belt against Jerry's balls anyway, but telling Rick Sanchez not to do something was the best way to incite him to do exactly that. He snapped the belt expertly in his hands and even bit the inside of his cheek as he spotted Morty jump in his seat at the noise. Rick made a mental note to reintroduce Morty to the belt sometime in the near future since he quite clearly craved it. But for now, Rick lined up the belt in the middle of Jerry's thighs and tapped gently in preamble.

Rick cleared his throat to get Jerry's attention, and when he had it, simply stated, "You will survive this, Jerry," and the belt snapped down with a _thwack_ that echoed in the room a split second before Jerry's wail followed. 

The handspanking over his lap had been rapid and thorough, but now that Rick had his worn leather belt in his hands, he was deliberate, and painstakingly slow. Each stripe was carefully slapped onto Jerry's nether regions in neat, organized fashion. Each welt no more than a few milimeters apart as Rick steadily worked his way down Jerry's thighs to his ass.

Each fiery swat with the belt was preceded by calm, measured scolding. "Y-you gotta stop living in your past mistakes and your future misfortune, Jerry." _SLAP_ "You spent all day scared of a spanking and yet y-y-you still managed to end up over my knee, so how much good did that do you, Jerry?" _SMACK_ "Maybe, j-just maybe it'd behoove you to think a bit more positively, hm?" _THWAP_

Rick stood back and tapped the belt against his leg, "Frankly Jerry," he began with a mockingly sincere voice, "I'm hurt you are so frightened of me. Don't I treat you all fairly?"

_You will survive this._ Half-delirious with panic, Jerry knew that was true, but how he wished it wasn't -- he'd rather just be done with it and have Rick beat him to death, as the thought of enduring this again and again was too much to bear. Melodramatic and supremely self-pitying, Jerry cried quietly as he nodded in understanding. Then the belt hit its mark, and Jerry could only cry out. Compared to this, Rick's hand was nothing -- the leather seemed to set his sensitive thighs on fire, and Rick's patient way of proceeding to spank Jerry just made it all the worse. Every smack seared a new mark into unbruised flesh, and Jerry had plenty of time to contemplate the pain in the belt's wake and tremble with anticipation of the next time the belt would hit his thighs. 

He tried to focus on Rick's lecture, he really did, but it was difficult -- his brain was screaming at him to try and get away, but Beth refused to budge. Finally Jerry covered his face with his hands, almost child-like -- as if not seeing what was happening would make Rick and his belt cease to exist. Of course it didn't, and the belt simply continued its fiery path down Jerry's thighs, finally ending up at his ass.

Hiccuping and sobbing, Jerry was barely aware Rick had paused until the next smack he'd been waiting for didn't come. He took his trembling hands away from his face and looked at Rick, red-faced and bleary-eyed and thoroughly cowed. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "Y-y-you do, you're fair and-and just, and y-you're, you're honest, and-and I'm-I'm-I'm _sorry_ that I was scared, and that I -- that I didn't, didn't think, and that I didn't do what you wanted me to do."

Rick's spanking certainly seemed to have had an effect on Jerry. Now that the thing he'd feared had come to pass, he was filled with guilt and shame, and with his legs shaking and burning, he started bawling properly. "And I'm sorry I didn't help out!" he managed. "I'm sorry that, that I didn't try harder to find a job!"

“Mmhm.” Was Rick’s terse reply as he tapped the belt against Jerry’s quivering bottom for aim, and smacked again. It was a bit disappointing to beat Jerry because he gave up so quickly. Beth and Summer were outright defiant and rebellious half the time they had a spanking coming, and Morty, for all his anxiety and nervousness was probably the best out of the family at attempting to talk his way out of a spanking or physically wiggle out and escape. More than once Rick had had to chase down a pants-less and half-spanked Morty running pell-mell away from him.

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt Jerry, I’m a real—euurp—real upstanding guy like that.” The belt smacked down again. “Starting tomorrow you’ll have a list of chores from Beth that you need to do to help out since y-you can’t seem to figure out for yourself when dishes need to be cleaned…p-pro tip, when they’re _dirty.”_

Rick straightened and looked up at his daughter, “And you tell me if he gives you trouble.. Either I’ll handle it…or euulch p-perhaps it’s time _some_ of the disciplinary duties in this house be delegated to other people.” Rick considered this for a moment with a nasty smile, but then roused himself from a personal reverie and slapped the belt in his palm, “But that’s a discussion for another time, isn’t it?”

Swooshing the belt through the air, Rick announced the ending of Jerry’s torment, “Ten more Jerry, n-no need to count. A loud and sincere ‘thank you’ after each swat will do nicely.”

"I won't give her trouble!" Jerry wailed, the very image of being bent over his wife's knee (and then, no doubt, over her father's to finish the job) enough to inspire an even more ardent brand of compliance than Rick's belt alone could have. He knew he frustrated the hell out of Beth (and to be fair, she pissed him off a fair amount as well!) and the thought that she'd be able to relieve those frustrations by beating him senseless wasn't enticing in the least. Rick clearly got a sick sort of pleasure out of punishing him, but Rick just found him annoying -- Beth's concerns with Jerry were much more deep-seated, and he decided right there and then that he'd rather run away before he let his wife take an implement to his backside.

At least the end was in sight. He breathed in deep, nodded his assent, and waited for the belt to come down. A small part of him was almost grateful that Rick didn't make him count, almost considered it a mercy, a kindness. He wasn't sure if he could count right in the state he was in, and he knew the consequences of miscounting. His first "Thank you!" was, as a result, laced with a pitiful sincerity -- a sincerity that had disappeared entirely by the third stroke of the belt, at which point he could barely articulate the two simple syllables, sobbing and sniveling and feeling decidedly sorry, both in general and for himself, specifically.

He took his lumps as best he could, which wasn't all that well. His legs now trembled entirely involuntarily, and his " _Thhhank_ you!" became less and less intelligible with every new smack of the belt. He'd given up on his struggling entirely, his eyes squeezed shut in humiliation and agony until he'd finally, finally arrived at the end of the end of his punishment, and it was all he could do to sob softly, no longer afraid, but deeply, deeply ashamed, and entirely put in his place -- his ass and thighs still burning as if an invisible Rick was still whacking away at them, his leg muscles cramping.

Rick pulled his leather belt back through the loops of his pants, but didn’t buckle it closed, and instead with a dismissive wave of his hand he barked a simple direction at the rest of the assembled family members: “Get the fuck out and go to bed.”

But to Jerry, he shook his head and belched, “Uh-uh, ‘cept y-eulch-‘cept _you_ Jerry, you stay here. Pull your pants up and settle down for God’s sake.”

He had, Rick considered, tolerated his spanking better than expected. Jerry had given reasonable responses, and even now, jumped to obey Rick’s every instruction with increased speed. As his son-in-law scrambled to tearfully clothe himself, Rick allowed a slight smile to himself at Jerry’s back; perhaps he _was_ finally getting somewhere with this sorry son of a bitch.

Jerry fumbled suddenly, and Rick sprang forward, grabbing him by the upper arm and righting him on his feet before he could collapse. “Ohhh,” Rick rolled his eyes as he dragged Jerry to the couch, “N-no need to carry on Jerry, I spanked you, I didn’t eviscerate you...” Rick sat heavily on the couch, dead center and glared up at Jerry standing before him, “..even though I _could._ You know that, huh Jerry?” Rick let a particularly sinister edge creep into his already slightly-raspy voice, “Th-that I could do that to you?”

Without waiting for a response, Rick plowed right on in a more conversational tone, “W-well, y-you’ve had a big day, eh, Jerry? Big day for a big—a-a big boy. Speaking of –uurp- big boys, if I recall correctly you were going to show _my_ big boy a good time this morning,” Rick unzipped the front of his slacks, and deftly cupped himself as he reclined on the couch and looked Jerry over. Youth really did look great on Jerry, honest and truly—like an older, perhaps dorkier Morty, but with a taut, smooth body. “D-did you practice sucking dick today Jerry? M-maybe ate a banana slower than usual?”

In his pajamas with their ridiculous tartan print, Jerry looked even younger. They were too big for his teenage body and he had to hold up the pants, too worried about the fabric making excessive contact with his sore ass to rely on the drawstring. Although he was still whimpering quietly, the flow of tears and snot seemed to mostly have stopped, and he wiped his face with his sleeve, his shoulders drawn up to his ears, the very face of teenage contrition. He cast his eyes down at Rick's threat (was it an actual threat? He wouldn't, right?) and kept his mouth shut dutifully. He knew all too well what Rick was capable of and he was fairly certain Rick knew that he knew, too. Probably best not to speak unless asked to at this point.

"I didn't," he said quietly in response to Rick's question. The whiplash of it all had him reeling a little -- Rick had been so stern and punishing, and then with the vague threats, and now this? He was terrified of Rick already but this unpredictability just made it worse. "I-I worked on my CV and, and I went to look for a job. I didn't..." But he didn't finish that sentence. Really, after the way Rick had responded to his initial attempt to suck his way out of a punishment, he wasn't all that sure Rick wanted anything to do with him in that particular way. It hadn't even surprised him all that much -- he knew Rick was getting it on semi-regularly with the rest of his family, but he also cared more about them.

Still, Jerry obediently sank to his knees. "I'm sorry if I mess up," he said, keeping his eyes focused on Rick's mouth as he spoke, to beaten down to look him in the eye. "I-I'll be, I'll be careful." He tried to think back -- the last time Beth had blown him in earnest had been ages ago. Did she have any tricks he could attempt to copy? Most of it was obvious stuff -- keep your teeth in check, breathe through your nose, fondle the balls. But how did people control their gag reflex? How did they use their tongue?

"Ugh." With one hand in his pants and the other braced against his knee, Rick sighed dramatically and then grabbed Jerry by the neck toward the couch--away from his crotch. "Y-you're about as sexy as b-boiled spaghetti Jerry, but I'd fuck a bowl of pasta before putting my dick in your weepy little trap." 

With a shove, Rick deposited Jerry right side-up in the seat beside him. "My standards for you were thus," he counted off on his free hand, "job, do chores, decent blowjob, y-yeah? Well apologizing before you even get started is a shit start, even-even for you...and _careful???_ When has anyone anywhere wanted a hummer described as 'careful'?!"

Rick grabbed his still-pensive son-in-law and pulled him closer--so close that their thighs touched. "S-since you're too stupid to figure out how to perform literally the first physical milestone a developing infant acquires: _sucking,_ then I'm going to show y-you step by fucking step." 

And with that, Rick abruptly leaned over, cupped his palm against the back of Jerry's curly head, and pulled him forward into a kiss. 

Despite the general smell and taste of a sewer drenched in day-old booze, Rick knew a thing or two about how to kiss someone. He was firm, his slightly chapped lips massaged Jerry's trembling mouth until it opened of its own accord, and only then did Rick's slimy, thick tongue dive in. Rick's hand moved gently from the back of Jerry's head, to his shoulder, and then to his elbow, where he coaxed the younger man's arm and hand into Rick's lap.

After a near minute of feverish, demanding making out, Rick pulled back, licked his lips and fixed Jerry with a stern gaze, "Now, tell me how much you want to suck my fat cock, and I--I better believe you."

Surprised (the second time Rick rejected his advances, really?!) but a little relieved as well, Jerry let himself be deposited on the couch, wincing as his ass made contact with the admittedly soft couch cushions. Rick's criticism was probably fair enough, but Jerry really couldn't handle the idea of yet more corporal consequences, and flinched as Rick pulled him closer, certain he was about to end up over Rick's knee. He hardly registered the kiss until the pungent smell of Rick's breath had his eyes watering.

Jerry hadn't been kissed like this in a while, maybe ever. There was a part of him that had always been slightly jealous of his girlfriends (maybe even resented them?) whenever they kissed -- they made it look so lovely and effortless, craning their necks and yielding softly and sighing into his mouth. He'd always wanted that, even if it was just for the experience of having to look up during a kiss. Well, now he was getting it, and from Rick to boot -- it was not really all he'd been hoping it would have been, what with Rick tasting sour in a way that brought to mind spoiled milk, stomach acid, and other things Jerry preferred to keep out of his mouth, but then there was that hand on his head and it was all he could do to scoot towards Rick a little.

Taking the hint, he immediately cupped Rick's cock the moment his father-in-law relocated his hand, and didn't even bother suppressing a breathy gasp that was dangerously close to being a veritable moan. After Rick had torn him down so expertly, being handled like this -- carefully, almost! -- was a treat and a half. Beth _never_ kissed him like this. Their best sex was when they were angry at each other -- any other time it was usually just the same dispassionate garbage. But this! This was positive attention -- a rare commodity in Jerry's life, and one he couldn't even dream to turn away.

It was not very difficult then to follow Rick's instructions. His lips still parted, red and just a bit swollen with the intensity of the kiss, he nodded immediately. "That-that was great," he said, blinking residual tears out of his eyes. He looked down, realized his hand was still on Rick's sizable cock, and had the gall to blush despite everything that had come before. "I want it," he said, too quickly, too eagerly. "I want to-I'll, I want the-the first, uh, the first one I put - um, in-in my mouth to be yours, Rick!" Despite his stammering, he seemed genuine enough, and he slid off the couch to kneel between Rick's legs once more. This time he didn't waste time on preemptive apologies and simply buried his face in Rick's crotch, his nose nestled against Rick's still-covered cock. "Can I?" he tried, figuring asking for permission would probably do it for Rick. "Uh, I mean -- _may,_ may I, um. Sir?" That last one was a gamble but he could feel his own heart beat faster the moment the moniker left his lips. At least it was doing it for _him._

Rick’s expression was relatively neutral as Jerry slid from the couch to nestle between his spread legs a second time, but his mouth quirked for a split second as Jerry begged for his cock to be the first ever that he put in his mouth. This was erotic for Rick: not the promise of another warm mouth in the house to fuck and not the sight of a panicky young man fiddling with his crotch, but the complete and utter control of another person. The same milquetoast son-in-law who use to rant and rage and threaten to put him in an elderly care facility was now barely suppressing the most girlish of moans as he settled down in front of Rick.

“Don’t ask permission to do something I told you to do, Jerry.” Rick had intended this statement to be gruff, but it was late in the day, he’d administered several spankings by now, and his delivery lacked the typical Sanchez intimidation. Still, softness was something he reserved for his favorites, namely Beth and Morty, so he spat out Jerry’s name like it left a taste on his tongue as he slouched down in the couch to give himself more room to maneuver.

“Take it out—euulch—w-wrap your—th-there you go, now jack me off a bit… christ Jerry you can squeeze it harder, my dick won’t break off in your hand.”

But when Jerry acquiesced, Rick had to swallow a grunt before it escaped, because with his most frequent sexual partners being two girls and a teenage boy, he’d forgotten what it felt like to have a hand with some strength behind it on his crotch. Jerry wasn’t macho by any definition of the word, but his new youth had returned some of his old strength.

“Now—n-now use your tongue,” Rick instructed, maintaining his level tone of voice only through his sheer refusal to allow Jerry to see any amount of vulnerability, “N-never seen an uncut cock before, huh, Jerry? Of course not.” Rick relaxed a bit more into the cushions on the couch, “U-use your tongue to push the foreskin back and—yeahhh, there you go.”

Despite any suspicions Beth (and Rick) might have had about Jerry's sexuality, this really was the first time he was touching a dick other than his own, and the experience felt a lot more foreign than he would've expected it to. Rick's cock was not a pretty one by any stretch of the imagination, but even in all its blood-flushed, veiny glory, it was still soft to the touch and warm and solid in a way that Jerry could almost describe as comforting. The foreskin was a surprise, and Jerry's nose crinkled (he'd always been taught that circumcision was the hygienic thing to do, and he was not entirely sure whether Rick would care enough to properly clean himself down there), but he swallowed any concerns he had and scooted forward, his knees pressed against the couch.

"Okay, Rick," he mumbled, his tongue darting out to poke at the foreskin as instructed. He cheated a little, guiding it down with his hand, and glanced up at Rick to see if that was OK. The glans of Rick's cock was a little intimidating -- fat and dark and glistening, but Jerry knew there was no backing out now, and he pressed a tentative kiss to the head of Rick's cock, not entirely sure how to proceed.

How did one go about giving a proper blowjob? Beth hardly ever went down on him, and when she did she certainly wasn't trying to outperform herself. He tried to think of any tricks she might have used early on in their courtship, but none came to mind. Realizing he still hadn't moved on from simply pressing his lips to Rick's cock in a while now, he simply took the plunge -- opened his mouth and took as much of Rick as he could, which turned out to be not all that much.

He withdrew, a little dismayed, and elected to lap at the underside for a bit instead. At least that was straightforward. He looked up at Rick again through his eyelashes, tilting his head to get a proper angle to flick his tongue at Rick's frenulum. That always got Jerry going. Hopefully it was the same for Rick.

It was a challenge not to mock Jerry for taking about only a few centimeter’s worth of cock into his mouth before backing up again, but Rick assumed anymore tongue lashing and the idiot between his legs would faint in fear. No matter—a step-by-step lesson then, since he apparently lacked intelligence and initiative when it came to penises.

Rick wrapped his hand around his cock, over Jerry’s hand and guided the small fist faster up and down his dick, before planting his free palm on the back of Jerry’s head.

“Open your mouth.”

The second Jerry’s lips began to just part, Rick was firmly pulling him down onto his groin, forcing his cock into the gasping, struggling mouth while continuing to manually teach Jerry the way he liked to be tugged. The little laps against his frenulum were nice, but that activity was for when his cock was actually wet. Rick could feel the head of his cock tap the squishy back of Jerry’s throat, and as expected, he heaved hard as the old man barked a dry laugh and pressed down harder on the back of his son-in-law’s head.

“Yeah, choke on that.” The pressure hurt a bit as did Jerry’s teeth when they grazed his shaft slightly, but Rick ignored these minor distractions in favor of delighting in Jerry’s blubbering misery. “N-not gonna complain as-as much, I expect, eh, Jerry? Life could always be worse—th-there could always be a fat cock stuffed down your throat.” The hand cemented to the back of Jerry’s head maintained the pressure, but then suddenly rubbed a quick circle that could be construed as affectionate. Rick released him, watching with satisfaction as Jerry coughed, sputtered, and carried on. “If you d-don’t want my help Jerry, start sucking with some conviction.”

Jerry only really realized what was about to happen when Rick's cock was halfway down his throat already, and although he couldn't let go of Rick's cock, his free hand desperately squeezed Rick's thigh as he tried to get away. No use -- Rick was a lot stronger than him, and it took all of Jerry's effort not to throw up right then and there. His vision blurred with tears and his jaw cramped up as he tried not to drag his teeth along Rick's cock (he figured that wouldn't put him in Rick's good books any time soon), and then it was suddenly over, and he tried to get some air back in his lungs.

"I don't -- I don't need your help!" he was quick to assure Rick, and he swallowed, despite his throat feeling raw and sensitive. The taste of Rick's dick didn't rank high on his list of favorite flavors, but he knew better than to test Rick's patience -- so start sucking with conviction, he did. He continued jacking off Rick, more roughly now (as that was apparently part of Rick's expectations), and at least Rick's rough treatment had flooded his mouth with saliva, lubricating the proceedings a bit. Enough so, in fact, that Jerry couldn't help but drool a bit as he tried to work his way up and down Rick's shaft.

His breathing was ragged and a little panicky. He kept glancing up at Rick, worried that a lacklustre performance would result in him being forced down once more. He sat up a bit, hoping a different angle would grant some relief, and then had the inspired idea to use his free hand to fondle Rick's sack. Although he was clearly no expert cocksucker, he was giving it his all, managing to get further and further down every time he plunged forward once more. And while he couldn't help gagging every time Rick's heavy cock pressed down on the back of his tongue, he made a sincere effort to relax his jaw and keep his teeth away. This was okay, wasn't it? His ass still stung like a bitch, but this was okay. He was doing okay.

Well, he was trying, Rick couldn’t begrudge him that. A little bit of meanness had reaped redoubled effort on Jerry’s part, and although it was annoying to Rick that he had to constantly rough up Jerry to get the results he wanted, at least this time he was getting a blow job out of it.

“Oh no? G-gonna finally be-uurp-be a man about it and suck my cock properly then?” He took his hands off completely and folded them on his chest, “Have at.”

His son-in-law’s mouth now swimming with saliva, it was a much pleasanter experience as Jerry had a second go of his own. His pacing was clumsy, he kept pausing to look up at Rick with those dinner-plate eyes, and the motion of bobbing his head while sucking was seemingly too advanced for him to do simultaneously, so he was either moving his head up and down or sucking, but not both at once. It was tempting to lambast Jerry for this next, but Rick reconsidered; this was only Fellatio 101, plenty of time for him to learn.

Jerry’s other hand abruptly cupped his sack and gently kneaded it, and finally Rick was able to start enjoying himself. Undoubtedly Jerry personally understood how underappreciated a man’s balls were, and this was the first time today he exhibited any kind of confidence as he fondled him while sucking.

“That’s it.” Rick couldn’t resist bucking slightly into the drool-y mouth before him, as he unfolded his arms and rested them along the back of the couch, his legs stretching out on either side of Jerry, as he relaxed his old, tired joints. Another fearful look from between his thighs and Rick flicked his thumb and forefinger against Jerry’s forehead.

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to murder you Jerry, it’s not appealing. I’m a—I’m a fair man, Jerry.” Rick could barely get through that sentence without a wry smile, “Even reasonable I’d say—so y-you don’t have to worry about punishment if you perform correctly.”

Jerry flinched all the same, wincing a little. Still he tried to put Rick's (constructive?) criticism to use, and he made a very sincere if clumsy attempt at bedroom eyes. Not really his strong suit, but at least he no longer looked at Rick as if the man was a semi-truck that was about to run him over. He sat up a bit straighter, using this new angle to get Rick's cock in his mouth even further. Sitting here like this made him feel awfully small -- he didn't really want to compare himself to a child, but it had more than a little to do with that kind of power imbalance. The worst part was that he didn't even seem to be doing that great a job -- while Rick hadn't forced him down again after that initial time, he was also oddly stoic about the whole thing. Jerry usually dissolved into grateful groans and mumbled swears about half a minute into a blowjob. Maybe his standards were just lower.

He continued valiantly though, taking a chance to take his mouth off of Rick's cock, only for his mouth to trail down to Rick's balls, mouthing at them, trying his hardest to ignore the wiry hair and wrinkly skin and even throwing in an entirely unnecessary moan or two. Maybe if he could get Rick to think that he loved sucking him off, Rick would go a little easier on him in the future. Maybe not. Probably not.

Although Beth didn't usually deign to go down on him these days, he still found himself between her legs plenty, and while she was just as imperious (and at times even nonchalant) as Rick whenever this happened, at least she'd play with his hair a little. He wondered if he could ask Rick to do something like that or if it'd just lead to Rick viciously pulling his hair or laughing at him (or both). Best not to risk it. This wasn't really sex anyway, was it? Not like what Rick got up to with -- well, with everyone else in the household except Jerry, it seemed. This was more some kind of powerplay than anything else. A thought that would have Jerry sulking if his ass didn't still sting with the very recent reminder of what happened if he tried to question Rick.

As he laved his tongue over Rick's sack, his hand still worked the spit-slick shaft, and he moved forward a little more, resting his cheek on Rick's thigh and looking up again with half-lidded eyes, a hesitant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he desperately tried to get some more words of praise from Rick -- even if it was just another That's it.

Jerry’s longing glances, furtive snuggling against his thigh, generally hopeful demeanor was frankly, absolutely aggravating. If Rick hadn’t been relishing the power dynamics currently at play, he’d have gone soft at Jerry’s lame ploys for affection. But since he wanted to waste time and goof off around his ballsack instead of sucking him off, Rick was happy to oblige and help him remember.

He grabbed a handful of Jerry’s hair, lifted him off his balls, and shoved him back down on his dick, exhaling a long, drawn out and dramatic sigh. “Stick with the basics, Jerry, no sense running when you can’t even crawl.” He snickered as Jerry struggled, his voice muffled by cock, “I’m a-asking for a decent blowjob, nothing fancy. Bob your head, jack me off, lots of spit, I mean—urp- Jerry, this is not rocket science.”

A tear leaked out of the corner of Jerry’s eye and Rick frowned deeper still, “Ughh.” But he kept his hand on the back of Jerry’s head and moved him up and down anyway, mentally deciding he would seek out a more fun fuck soon to reward himself for putting up with such a terrible example of oral sex.

“A-alright, I’m starting to get close, so speed it up.” He finally released Jerry’s head and leaned back again, “keep rubbing on my sack, though, that’s good.” Might as well say something positive so the damn boy would stop crying.

For a brief, terrifying moment Jerry was sure he was about to end up over Rick's lap again, but the throatful of cock he was treated to instead wasn't that much better. Heaving and choking, he struggled against the hold Rick had on him, but found his efforts wasted. Apparently there really wasn't anything nice in the cards for him, and he couldn't help but compare himself to his family members. They all got kisses and compliments, and whereas at first he could've chalked it up to the fact that they also had to deal with Rick's punishments more often, that was clearly no longer the case. He teared up with self-pity as much as with indignation, but followed Rick's instructions carefully.

Teary and miserable, Jerry continued the subpar blowjob, trying his hardest to slobber all over Rick's cock as instructed. His hand trembled as he continued to massage Rick's balls and he didn't dare to look up again. Instead he elected to keep his eyes cast down submissively (or was it simply in a sulk?) as he gagged and groaned his way up and down Rick's cock, unable even now to get it down to the root, but refusing to abandon his attempts to bury his nose in Rick's pubes.

At least Rick was close and this would all be over. Jerry wondered where he was supposed to go afterwards. Would Beth even tolerate him in their bed after seeing him reduced to a writhing, begging mess just a short while ago? Even if she did, the thought of lying in bed next to her after Rick all but promised her that she too could take Jerry in hand if she saw fit was a horrifying one. Jesus, was nobody in this damn household on his team?

And although Jerry feeling sorry for himself would probably have earned him a slap in the face if he'd actually articulated his thoughts, it also put a bit more pep into his efforts to suck Rick off properly. If only Rick didn't come down his throat. That he couldn't bear. In fact, he should probably tell him--

Jerry did speed up, and his efforts finally produced a genuine grunt of appreciation from Rick, which he didn’t bother holding back, because if Jerry’s self-esteem dropped even lower he probably wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror. Rick could tell Jerry wasn’t enjoying himself, and that was half the fun; if he wasn’t such a constant wimp perhaps Rick would be more forgiving…but then again, perhaps not.

“Yeah, theeeere we go… ah…” Rick sat up a bit and turned a toothy smile down at Jerry. “Y-you’ve been a real pansy about this entire affair, but—mmm—y-you’ve been a good sport about learning how to suck a cock.”

Rick paused and observed the activity between his legs a moment more before quietly inquiring, “I suppose you deserve a reward, huh?”

Rick chuckled to himself at his own question and sat up straighter still, curling his legs back in from their outstretched position to give himself better leverage as he leaned over the still-terrified-and-badly-disguising-it Jerry. “I bet—urp—I betchya didn’t peg me for a positive reinforcement kinda guy, amiright, Jerry? W-well y-you’ve done a serviceable enough job I suppose.”

Rick suddenly pushed Jerry back by the shoulders, and then grabbed his face in one hand while he took his cock into the other and began jacking himself off. With Jerry’s cheeks cruelly pinched between his thumb and forefinger he glared down sternly at the youth, but spoke in a soft, even comforting voice as he announced, while carefully enunciating each word, “Good job, Jerry.” Before grunting again, and spurting a single fat glob of jizz onto the bridge of Jerry’s nose, followed by a few more less-impressive drops of cum that landed on his quivering chin, dripping a long connective string from his face to his lap.

Rick released his face and began tucking his spent cock back into his slacks. “Don’t wash that off until you get upstairs.”

He then stood, so quickly that he nearly knocked Jerry onto his back, and stepping around him, Rick adjusted the sleeves of his labcoat as he stared down dispassionately at his daughter’s husband. “I believe this was instructive. Now go to bed.”

With a final curt nod he turned on his heel and left the living room in the direction of the garage.

It wasn't a great testament to Jerry's intelligence that for one brief, shining instant, he truly did believe that Rick was going to reward him. He wasn't imaginative enough to come up with any real possibilities but his stomach did a little flip at the very idea of getting some sort of affectionate gesture from Rick, and even when Rick hunched over him in that characteristically predatory manner, part of Jerry was still expecting a pat on the head or even a hug.

He received neither, and as Rick painted his face with his cum, he didn't even look disgusted or horrified by the proceedings - his mouth half-open, a disbelieving frown on his face. Betrayal. That was what it was. Rick's condescending compliment only aggravated that, and Jerry sat glued to the spot as Rick got up and left, feeling the sticky glob of cum slowly slide down his nose.

And while he didn't wash his face or even wipe it with his sleeve, he did finally give in to something that had been building since that morning. It wasn't the theatrical kind of sadness that he'd used to try and inspire pity, not the kind of performance meant to show sincere contrition and regret. He cried quietly until his head ached and his face was shiny with jizz and spit and tears, and only then did he get up, feeling empty in a way that was so much worse than the terror with which he'd started the day.

He hesitated before entering the master bedroom, but steeled himself and walked past the bed, ignoring Beth entirely to make his way to the ensuite bathroom. He washed his face, hesitant to look even himself in the eye, and then finally got in bed, silently turning onto his side, his back towards his wife.

Beth wasn’t sure what would transpire between her husband and her father when the family left the living room to go upstairs, but she new perfectly well it wouldn’t be positive by any stretch of the imagination. But as the minutes ticked by, besides the occasional indecipherable whine from Jerry and gruff murmur from Dad, there were no worrisome outbursts. This alleviated some of Beth’s concern, because Jerry was not one to hold back a complaint so whatever was going on couldn’t really be that bad…he wasn’t being spanked again for example.

And then finally, heavy steps thumped up the stairs announcing Jerry’s approach, and too curious to fake being asleep, Beth sat up in bed, pulled the covers to her chin and waited for her partner. When he finally plodded his way through the threshold the sight alone was a shock. Beth’s general enduring emotion for her husband wasn’t so much love as it was pity. Perhaps once upon a time she had bubbled with warm affection for the suave young track athlete in polyester short shorts and a gaze that worshiped her, but time is a cruel mistress. Two children, several failed jobs, the general monotony of life, and Jerry’s unfortunate low self-esteem had reduced him to little more than another mouth to feed in the house…a mouth that was complaining or self-aggrandizing when not eating at that.

So when Jerry entered, clearly emotionally broken, his face a mess of snot, tears, puffy red eyes and crowned with – of all things – what could only be her father’s cum, Beth felt not pity, but a unique mixture of irritation and avarice. Spanking, scolding, humiliating, all of this was fair game as far as Beth was concerned; if Jerry pissed off Dad, he deserved the unholy consequences that would follow, but to sexually degrade him? That was her goddamn right as his wife. If there was going to be any cum on Jerry’s face it would be hers, and so instead of the teasing lecture she had planned to berate Jerry with, she instead quietly waited until after he had washed his face and slid silently into bed without even glancing at her.

Cuddling was rare in the Smith marriage bed, which was an advantage as Beth shifted over to Jerry’s side, laid down beside him, and nestling her naked body up against his, squeezing in so she filled every empty nook and cranny with her own warmth.

“Aw, Jer…” She sighed as she spooned her tragic comedy of a husband, “I’d ask if you were okay, but clearly you are not. Would you like me to hold you and we can go to sleep or would you like to talk about anything…?"

Jerry, who had resigned himself (and was actually quite looking forward) to a few hours of peace and quiet and being left entirely alone, jolted as Beth pressed up against him. Not only was this kind of behavior unprecedented -- Beth generally didn't seek him out for physical affection -- but although she probably meant well, her hips pushing up against his ass was not something he needed right now. "Ow," he snapped, scooching forward a little to reduce the pressure on the various bruises and welts on his backside. And that was all he said for a little while as he tried to organize his thoughts.

Finally, and in a tone of voice that was uncharacteristically pensive, he said: "Y'know, I-I don't think I'd put up with all of this if it wasn't for you and the kids." As he said it, his certainty in the truth of that declaration grew. "I could leave. Rick wouldn't -- he wouldn't care. He wouldn't hunt me down and drag me back." He turned over, facing his wife, his face pale in the darkness of their bedroom, his eyes gleaming dully, like light reflecting off of something all scratched up. "But I'm... where would I go? I-I don't want to. If I don't have you guys, why -- what's the point?"

None of them had come to his aid. None of them would during any future altercations with Rick. None of them would even feel all that bad, not like he felt when he had to watch them weep and cry but powerless to intervene, his intestines all tied up in knots and his palms sweaty. He was sure of all of this. But they were all he had. He didn't have a career. He didn't have a relationship with his parents. He didn't really have friends. If it weren't for them, why even bother with this whole mess? To improve his golf handicap? To see the midnight premiere of Star Wars: Episode VIII? No.

And he reached out, and wrapped his arms around Beth to pull her close. "Goddammit, Beth," he said, and he held onto her more tightly than he had in a long time. Maybe ever. "Goddammit," again.

Beth had to bite her cheek when Jerry announced he could leave if he wanted. If he hadn’t been so broken at the present moment, and if the entire strange domestic discipline debacle wasn’t happening in their house, she’d have barked a cold laugh. But as he continued to speak so earnestly about his reasons for staying resting squarely on the shoulders of her and their shared children, she did allow herself to close her eyes and then roll them behind her lids.

“Jerry, no. You can’t leave us, what would Morty and Summer do without their father? What would I do without my husband?”

Indeed, the more the idea of Jerry being gone rolled around in her head, the more frantic Beth felt at the possibility. “Look, if you think for a moment anyone is pleased with the current situation you’re wrong. And I know you had a terrible, awful day, but you can’t leave.” Beth wrapped her arms around him too, and tried to get him to look in her eyes, “I defied my parents by marrying you and having children with you and building a life with you.” She chose her words carefully, “I exchanged my dream of being a doctor for the dream of a happy family with a partner I love.” Not an entirely true statement, but if lying helped him feel better, Beth was happy to tell falsehoods all day long. “We’ve been through so much together Jerry, don’t give up on me…on us now.”

Beth held him a little tighter, moving him down so his head rested on her chest and he couldn’t see her face so she was free to emote as she would, “And…I don’t want to frighten you Jerry, but…really and truly it could be so much worse. I’ll put some cream on your bottom tomorrow morning, and a pillow on your chair, and you’ll apply to some more jobs, and you will get one.”

Beth put as much mysterious danger into her voice as she could muster without scaring him more and making her husband commit to his silly idea of running away. But frankly, Jerry possessed all his limbs, he wasn’t limping, and he suffered no bruises anywhere besides his nether regions. Although she dearly wanted to simply smack him and tell him to get some fucking perspective, perhaps a gentle touch was better right now.

Jerry all too gratefully buried his face into his wife's soft chest. While he liked to play at being the strong, broad-shouldered provider of the family, willing to make whatever sacrifice was needed to ensure they were all (somewhat) happy and (mostly) healthy, he was at least a little aware that wasn't really the role he fulfilled in their household. It was nice to give in to Beth -- to let her take charge, to listen to her comforting him in that mildly menacing voice, and to believe everything she told him. He suspected not all of it was true (she gave up her career because he got her pregnant in high school and their tire blew on the way to the abortion clinic, didn't she?) but it was a nice enough fantasy to soothe his frayed nerves, and he sighed.

"Of course, Beth," he said, so much more comfortable being the pliant husband than the stoic champion. "You're right... thank you." He kissed her throat -- not because he was feeling particularly amorous (getting the shit beaten out of him and then sucking off Rick had not done his libido any favors), but because this rare moment of affection and partnership seemed to demand that kind of thing. "Do you want me to go down on you?" he asked, not sounding particularly into it. Even if he hadn't shown much of a spine that entire evening, he seemed to find it then: "Actually, maybe -- let's... I mean, not tonight. But I'll -- tomorrow, okay?" He sighed again, nestling closer into his wife's tight embrace, his heart still beating along the marks on his ass.

"Your father is an asshole," he finally said, "and we should've put him in a home when we had the chance." He smiled -- perhaps with visions of what life could have been like with Rick out of their lives, perhaps because it felt good to disrespect Rick without fear of repercussions. "But if we're -- if all of this is gonna happen, I'm glad you're here." He breathed in deep, the smell of clean sweat and detergent and Beth's perfume making him sleepier and sleepier.

Thank heavens Jerry was buried in her chest, because the mere mention of sending Dad away to a home painted Beth’s face in a mask of rage. No. He left when she was a child, and she’d sooner lie down in front of the car before she’d let her idiot husband take her deadbeat father away. Sure, he was absolutely terrible, but Jerry was terrible too! Beth paused a moment for thoughtful introspection almost smiled as she thought to herself, and I’m terrible as well. Perhaps this was all just a gigantic, divine, karmic occurrence that her and her family where now subject to the disciplinary whims of a sometimes-charismatic, but often-maniacal super genius. Regardless, no one was taking her father away from her.

“There, there.” Was all she said. As for sex, she was a veritable desert down there, so she didn’t want anyone mucking around between her legs thank you very much. The offer was…well, it wasn’t nice, but it was kind perhaps.

Jerry nestled down further against her, his voice growing lazy and thick with exhaustion, and to be fair, he’d had a day filled with more terror and discomfort than he was used to (much of it self-imposed). “Of course I’m here, dear. I’m staying right here.”

Which of course was a perfectly factual statement. Where the hell else would she go? She was in the same boat as Jerry. The difference was, she was perfectly willing to operate within this strange new household they found themselves in. Jerry was still actively fighting it. It occurred to her it might be worthwhile to give him advice to that effect, but she knew Jerry, and knew it’d be pointless. He’d have to come to the conclusion on his own.

“Just relax now, Jer. Tomorrow you can get an early start…the car dealership on Main Street has a help wanted sign…try there tomorrow.”


	10. The Young and the Belted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick realizes he has been ignoring his dear grandson for several weeks and makes moves to remedy this, much to the entire family's chagrin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for reading this fic. This is our tenth chapter (I can hardly believe it??) with more still coming. East and I are glad so many people seem to enjoy our ridiculous writings.
> 
> We hope you enjoy this next chapter, and once again, thank you very very much <3

It had taken a few more not-so-gentle reminders, but it seemed Jerry had finally gotten his shit together. He'd managed to get himself a job, and while he was a little vague about what exactly it entailed, he left the house every morning and brought home a paycheck every week, which was good enough for Rick. In Rick's humble opinion, Jerry seemed a bit happier now that he had a purpose, and he was all too ready to take credit for that. A proper hiding could sort even the most pathetic of people out -- Jerry's change of heart was just more proof for that.

In fact, most of the Smith household seemed to be running pretty smoothly. Summer's grades had gone up after he'd made her start giving daily reports, Beth was still as eager to please him as she'd always been, Jerry was a lot less annoying now that he didn't spend all his time lounging around the house, and Morty -- well, Morty had always been a good kid. A real good kid. He fucked up every now and then, but it was never malicious, and he needed much fewer reminders than the other three to stay on the straight and narrow path. In fact, Rick had come to realize, he might have been neglecting the poor kid a little bit -- finally able to get his grimy hands on Morty's parents and sister, Morty had seemed a little less interesting. But now the shiny newness of forcing himself on Beth and making Summer jealous had worn off, and Rick found himself feeling a little guilty for the way he'd been ignoring Morty.

Not that that was the kind of thing Rick would ever let show. He wasn't about to inflate Morty's ego by apologizing to him -- or even by acknowledging he'd been distant. The tried and true Sanchez method of reconciliation was to simply jump right in there, and so he did.

The daily report was, as usual, relatively uneventful. Jerry was quiet until called on ("I went to work. It was fine"), Beth scoured his face for a trace of approval as she detailed her (truly productive) day, and Summer rattled off her academic achievements. Morty usually didn't have to go through his activities of the day, as he spent most of his time helping Rick out anyway -- but today, after Summer's "And so I guess I might do AP Calculus after all," Rick nodded, and turned to Morty. "And how've you been, Morty?"

"Uhhhh--" 

Seconds earlier Morty had been busy contemplating which video game he would play as soon as he left the living room, so he was well and truly caught off guard when Rick said his name. Morty wasn't the brightest bulb on the tree, but he'd been around Rick long enough to know that "how've you been" was meant to be a deceptively innocent inquiry.  

"I uhhh, w-well--" Morty was stalling,  boldly searching Rick's face for any hints as to what he was thinking, coming up short as usual. 

"I've b-been good I guess?" Morty floundered trying to figure out how to correctly answer the question, until finally realizing he wasn't going to be able to figure out Rick's intentions fast enough, he was left with how to honestly answer the question. 

"I m-mean, I,  I'm,  I'm pretty okay,  yeah. H-having these family meetings is sorta nice actually because w-we all get to catch up..."

Beside him, Summer choked and then coughed, waving her hands apologetically, undoubtedly she had been trying to refrain from loudly scoffing. But Morty soldiered on, "Well, I like them less when someone is punished, b-but uhh...y-yeah? I've been--I am, uh... I'm alright, Rick."

Rick nodded along thoughtfully, seemingly interested by what Morty was saying. He ignored Summer entirely, and remained focused on Morty. He'd apparently been expecting a bit more, judging by the awkward silence that fell after Morty finished, but then got up and moved behind Morty, putting his hands on his grandson's shoulders in a gesture that could hardly be construed as friendly and supportive, considering the things those hands usually got up to.

"Have you noticed," he began, addressing the others (who were all gaping at him with badly disguised trepidation), "that Morty's been getting into a lot less trouble than the rest of you?" This was objectively true -- from the perspective of the other three, at least. They generally weren't around to witness Rick disciplining Morty, as he usually just took him in hand on the fly during their adventures. Still, his parents had sister had really only witnessed that first disastrous paddling Morty had received in the kitchen for something that had not even really been his fault. Compared to the others, the kid was practically a saint.

He squeezed Morty's shoulders in a way that was surely meant to be comforting. "No attitude problem, no -- no screwing around oEEEUGGHr other bullshit. Just good old Morty being a good boy for grandpa. Are-aren't you, Morty?" His grip on Morty tightened, and he grinned down at his grandson. "Bit of -- bit of a shame, huh?"

Ah. Morty recognized the moment Rick's heavy palms landed on his shoulders that he would not be leaving the living room to play video games anytime soon. As Rick nastily reminded everyone that they were not witnessing as many of his punishments as he them, Morty sadly realized one way or another, he was about to get it. His bottom tingled in suspense. 

Summer glanced at them both, before chiming in, "I thought you just spank him on different planets or whatever, I mean," Summer bit her lip, "uh, speaking just for myself, I'm like, not really wanting to see anyone's punishments, Grandpa Rick." A bit of a white lie, it was fun seeing her mom get spanked, and Morty was probably cute bent over a lap, but she certainly wouldn't volunteer that info. 

"Aw, Rick..." was all Morty could say as he shifted beneath those two powerful hands. It was true: his spankings had severely decreased now that Rick had other butts to target, and although Morty sometimes wistfully would look at Rick's belt, or feel a twinge of odd jealousy seeing Rick comfort his mother or sister, he'd been spanked plenty enough times to have a healthy avoidance of it... Craving it or not.

"Who said anything about punishments?" Rick pretended to bristle. "I'm -- I just gave you a whole spiel about how, how good Morty's been." He tut-tutted. "I'm a fair person, Summer. I don't just go around handing out discipline 'cause I -- eeeuughh -- 'cause I feel like it." This was patently untrue, and he lifted his chin, daring Summer to challenge him on it. He had a suspicion she was smarter than that, and nodded decisively.

Jerry had curled up in the armchair. He felt a little more at ease -- the atmosphere in the room didn't seem to indicate someone was about to get it, and he was curious to see where Rick was going with this. He glanced over at Beth, and shrugged. At least no one was getting lectured -- which was usually just a prelude to much worse.

"Anyway," Rick continued, now petting Morty's hair absent-mindedly, "I'm -- I don't want to give off the impression that it's all work and no play. If -- if you're good, you oughta be rewarded, huh, Morty?" He grinned. "And I know just how." He leaned over the back of the sofa, condescendingly tapping Morty's cheek with his hand. "But don't -- I reckon it's only fair that we show this, this lot what being good can get ya. Don't you agree, Morty?"

Summer shut her mouth good and tight hearing Rick's tone of voice. Morty on the other hand, squeaked loudly and his stutter wreaked havoc as he tried to intelligently respond. 

"B-b-but--I,  I mean, I--y-you--" Morty felt himself turning red as his mind raced with possibilities. Depending on how 'good' he’d been, a reward from Rick could be a delicious half hour of being eaten out, or it could be taking his fat cock up the ass with only spit for lube. Rewards, just like punishments, were wholly subject to Rick's various moods and machinations. Surely... Surely he wouldn't fuck Morty in front of the family?? Morty chanced a glance and tilted his head up to see Rick upside-down and squirmed in his seat as he realized Rick was a man of no limits, and he probably would if he wanted. 

"Aw Rick, I--" Morty stopped short of saying he'd rather be punished than rewarded if his family had to see it, but that kind of response would invite a truly awful punishment indeed. But to be made a blushing, whimpering, begging mess of obsessive affection for the family patriarch was something Morty sincerely did not want to allow to happen in front of other people. He knew Rick might not care the same way Morty cared, but damn it if the boy wasn't completely infatuated body and soul with Rick. The old man knew this; perhaps that's why he so enjoyed toying with him.

"I..." Morty allowed himself the tiniest of sighs, no point in trying to out-maneuver a  master manipulator. "I guess so, I m-mean, y-yes sir..."

"Yes," Rick agreed, and he waved his hand at Beth, indicating that she better get off the couch before he made her. He waited for his daughter to get up before sitting down next to Morty, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Why the long face? Don't -- I've, I'EEEUGHHve heard the sounds coming from your room, Morty, there's -- you don't gotta pretend you, you didn't miss your, your ol' grandpa Rick." That was not a bluff -- Morty might play his emotional cards close to his chest most of the time, but in the privacy of his own bedroom his attitude towards Rick was only all too clear. Well, Rick intended to give him exactly what he wanted. And a little extra.

He shrugged off his labcoat and rolled up his sleeves before patting his lap. "C'mon, Morty," he instructed, still sounding pleasant enough -- although with Rick that could of course change at the drop of a hat. "Now I don't want to hear any crying or whining -- I get plenty of that from your dad." A pointed look at Jerry, who had the decency to shrink away from Rick's withering gaze. "Y-you know that -- you know I make it worth your while, Morty, so get your ass over here."

Now that was unfair, and although he didn't voice his displeasure, Morty gave Rick a very hearty pout as he shifted and moved toward his grandfather. 

"I j-just..." Morty's voice grew small with embarrassment. "I'm j-just uhh, I wasn't a-anticipating this Rick..." What Morty did and who Morty thought of and the names Morty moaned in the privacy of his bedroom were his business. Amazing that Rick could make him feel so naked while still fully clothed. 

And yet, it was impossible to stay mad at him. Rick's pleasant demeanor was incredibly disarming, and the smooth, sweet way he claimed he'd make it worth his while,  had Morty springing a slight chub in his jeans. Fine. The only thing that  _ guaranteed _ an easier time with Rick was obedience, so Morty crawled over, undid his belt and fly so if Rick wanted to remove his jeans it'd be easier to do so, and then submissively laid himself over Rick's lap.

"This'll be good, baby," Rick assured him jovially, patting Morty's ass. He was more than a little tickled that he didn't even have to instruct Morty to undo his pants. Of all the members of the Smith household, Morty was easiest to work with, and Rick really did appreciate that. Having Morty tag along whenever he went off-planet had a lot to do with brainwaves, sure, but Rick couldn't really picture spending quite as much time with Summer, or Beth, or (God forbid) Jerry. With that in mind, he resolved to really make this a mostly pleasant experience for Morty -- which of course called for a little discomfort, considering his grandson's tastes. Having his family look on was a good start, but Rick had more planned. He smirked greasily, and began to knead Morty's pert ass through his jeans.

"Now I want you all to pay close attention," he addressed the rest of the Smiths. "This -- this is meant to inspire the three of you. If you're good to grandpa, then grandpa's good to you." He looked from Beth to Summer to Jerry, his gaze lingering on the girls a bit longer. "Just doing your job isn't gonna cut it if youEEUGHH want preferential treatment." With that, he stopped his massage, and began to give Morty a comparably gentle warm-up, alternating between cheeks in a predictable rhythm, barely using a fraction of the force he was capable of.

"I don't think they get it, Morty," he said, pausing for a moment to again rub firm circles over Morty's ass. "Maybe you can convince 'em how good it feels when grandpa's nice to you." And, by way of motivation, he continued his hand spanking, taking his time, focusing on the fleshiest parts of Morty's ass, and rubbing in the swats every now and then with uncharacteristic tenderness.

Morty really did try valiantly to refrain from cooing with delight at getting his butt rubbed and then getting spanked so nice but it was in vain. A high-pitched hum of satisfaction rose to answer Rick's question before Morty stopped it by slamming his face onto the cushion. Damn Rick. No good, unpredictable, positively wonderful son of a bitch. He was getting a much-deserved and long awaited reward but in a way that simultaneously embarrassed him. Morty lifted his face and huffed a short, wry chuckle as he settled down a bit more over his grandfather's familiar knee. 

"Y-y'know Rick, I always forget how creative you are." Morty murmured over his shoulder, low and affectionate--pushing the boundaries in his usual sweet and mild fashion. He had been good lately, might as well go along for the ride and have fun. 

Addressing his family, he remarked awkwardly, "Uhh... W-well, you know it's uh-- pretty um, great?" he cocked his head to the side to look inquiringly at Rick, "Jeez... So uh,  you want me to uh, v-verbally convince them or will my p-pornstar groans do?" 

Beth audibly gasped but Morty simply turned his head back and had a little smile to himself. Once you've cheated death a few times you take things far less seriously, and although the anxiety remained, Morty was slowly but surely inheriting Rick's nihilism. Not that Morty could actually articulate any of that. Plus, Rick had a good sense of humor and appreciated banter, as long as he didn't suspect any subtle attitude.

Rick smirked, using his free hand to mess up Morty's hair. Although part of the fun was that the entire family was there to bear witness, the way he treated Morty was intimate enough that they might as well not have been there at all. Cheeky little asshole. There was a reason he'd been messing around with Morty long before he laid down the law for the other Smiths -- Morty was just so much damn fun to fuck (with). "What's this about pornstar groans?" he asked, a surprisingly resounding swat landing on Morty's ass. "Don't flatter yourself. You sound like a damn puppy who got his tail stepped on when you really get going."

He nudged Morty up with his thigh and pushed down his jeans -- only to just below his ass, which created a nice push-up effect. Morty's underwear was nothing scintillating, as usual, but after Summer and Beth (who continuously tried to win his favor with ever lacier and ever tinier lingerie it was a welcome change of pace. "Better use your words," he said, "while you still can, huh?" That last threat lingered in the air as Rick continued, pulling Morty's briefs into his ass crack to lay down some proper smacks on his bare skin. Morty's backside was only just beginning to turn a little pink, but already felt warmer to the touch: something Rick decided to savor by grabbing a handful of ass and squeezing it roughly.

He glanced up at Summer. "SEEEUGHHurprised to see you don't have one hand d-down your panties yet, Summer. Is-is that only for when you're watching your mom get her ass beat?" With a shrug, he continued. "Suit yourself. Morty's having a good time. Little perv. How long have you been waiting for this, huh?" He moved Morty forward a little, trapping the growing bulge in Morty's underwear between his thighs.

“Ouff—“ Morty splayed his fingers against the couch beneath his chest as a way of bracing himself. That one hard smack went a long way toward reminding Morty that just because he could poke fun didn’t mean he should forget the supremely compromising position he was currently in. He also wasn’t the only one bright red with mortification. Summer kept her gaze cemented on Morty, even though from her peripheral view, she could see her mother whip around and glare at her after Grandpa Rick’s allegation.

But Morty was only aware of his family in the sense that yes, they were definitely watching what was happening, but Rick had a way of capturing attention and holding it fast. “Well,” he began, and then paused, to groan in response to another perfectly stinging smack, “W-well,” he tried again, “Iiiit’s uh, it’s nice because R-rick, he reads, um. He reads body language real well, so y-y’know…he keeps you right at the edge of uh…enjoying yourself but n-never too much, I guess?”

Morty really didn’t know how to properly describe the phenomenon of reward spankings without admitting to his masochist streak—not that he was doing a good job of hiding it anyway. And with Rick squeezing his hard-on between his strong thighs, most of Morty’s brain power was devoted to keeping himself from getting all-the-way sprung too quickly, and also refraining from humping into Rick’s leg like a horny puppy. “I haven’t,” Morty stopped midsentence, he really had been waiting for Rick to pull him over his knee, it was an easy-to-disprove lie. So Morty huffed childishly to himself, his cheeks growing redder by the minute. “C-couple, uh—f-few, few weeks…I guess…I don’t keep track!”

With a grin and a nod, Rick accepted Morty's various compliments about his ability to mercilessly edge his grandson. "A couple of weeks, huh?" Almost immediately, Morty's underwear was pulled down as well. "I-in that light, it'd be downright cruel to keep you waiting, wouldn't it?" He delivered an especially vicious swat  to Morty's left cheek, pleased to see a red handprint glow up before fading away. "Can't -- can't believe you've been so patient, Morty," he said, returning once more to the more gentle rhythm -- swat, swat, rub, swat, swat, rub. "Don't you -- we went through that whole thing a couple'a months ago about you asking for what you wanted. That lesson didn't stick, did it?"

He hummed in contentment. That had been a great time -- he'd refused to lay a single finger on Morty in any way until the poor kid had literally dropped to his knees, begging Rick to show him the business end of his belt. Perhaps the more serious discipline he'd regularly see Rick dole out had put a bit of a damper on things for Morty? Although he definitely had a massive hard-on for any sort of impact play, the kind of punishment he'd subjected Summer and Jerry to might have been a little too much, even for Morty.

"And then there's this," he said, his voice silky smooth as if he wasn't having his way with his grandson in the middle of the living room. His index finger traced Morty's ass crack before finally stroking along Morty's asshole. "How about that?" he asked.

Well now that was just wicked, and although it shamed him to his core, the terrible humiliation of this entire moment was half the pleasure as well. Morty yelped at that one ferocious swat, his toes working the edge of the carpet on the floor, his hands tangling themselves up in his hair--anything to redirect the energy that wanted to manifest itself as blissful humping. Morty determined to himself he'd try to retain his dignity (whatever was left) as long as he could before Rick could so sweetly wrench it away. 

"I didn't forget!" oh no, Morty did not. That day had been the most magnificent torture; not that he'd ever describe it thusly to Rick! "I'm--I'm a teenager Rick, if I t-told you--err, a-asked you for--" Morty scowled because Rick couldn't see his face, "it'd be constant! Besides, I-I-I don't always wanna write a check with my mouth that my--that my butt has to cash." This was also true. In theory, getting a nice spanking every single day seemed appealing, but Morty had the good sense to know that wouldn't be the case in practice.

That was all fair enough. If Morty made the mistake of hassling Rick for a trip over his knee too often, there was no doubt that Rick would take the opportunity to show Morty that a spanking didn't always have to be pain mixed with pleasure. There were plenty of ways to make a spanking nothing but pure, unadulterated torment, and Morty had to be aware of that. Still, it was fun to tease Morty like this -- to really make him believe that all of his pent-up sexual frustration from the past few weeks could've been taken care of easily. "I see," Rick replied simply, and he resolved that this would be the last non-discipline spanking Morty would be getting in quite a while -- because while this was already proving to be supremely entertaining, having a tearful Morty begging for Rick to beat his ass was even better.

"Guess y-you're lucky I took it upon myself this time around," he said, the pressure of his fingertip against Morty's twitching hole growing more insistent. "Then again, if you'd just manned up and come to me for some of that sweet lovin', I-I wouldn't -- you wouldn't be getting fingered in front of your parents and your sister right now, huh?" And with that, he pushed in -- no spit, just a dry, long digit probing and probing. "Jesus, you're tight," he laughed. "Been a while, I suppose."

“Oh!” Morty dug his fingers and screwed up his face into a half-grimace, half-grin of pained delight, but good god, that definitely hurt. He considered Rick’s words and for a moment berated himself—was that true? If he had asked even just a few days prior would he have found relief? Before he could pursue that thought a little longer the finger inside him pressed more insistently, and Morty had to focus on relaxing his muscles to make it easier on himself.

”Yes I’m tight—” he refrained from following that up with ‘you jackass.’ Behind closed doors he doubted Rick would take much offense to that, but in the presence of family members, he decided to err on the side of being more polite than less. Morty was simultaneously pleased and pissed; a weird combination that Rick typically tended to provoke. “Ah! Rrrriiick…” The way he said his grandfather’s name could’ve been a plea for mercy or a request for  more bullying—or perhaps both—but Rick always seemed to understand Morty better than Morty understood himself.

Jerry couldn't take his eyes off of the scene unfolding before him. This was crazy -- he knew Rick got up to all sorts of crazy shit with his family members, but he usually had the good sense to do it behind locked doors or after sending the rest of them out. And now here they all were during what was supposed to be a family meeting. It'd be one thing if it was just Rick forcing this kind of perversity on the rest of them, but Morty didn't seem to mind all that much. Sure, he was flustered... but the way he writhed around told another story entirely. Jerry wasn't about to stop Rick, of course -- but it was a little much. "Do we, uh... do you need us here for this?"

When his father broke the moment with his comment, Morty’s face snapped over to glare at him, “Y-you, y’know, y-you’re—ouch, Rick—y-you’re s’posed to be paying attention to this, so, so obviously yes, y-you’re supposed to be here.” Morty tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but his father’s stupid question was very annoying. Instead of fretting over what was going on, his dad should be taking pointers about how to gracefully take a spanking, or how to sass correctly without too much attitude. Besides, Morty was the one being spanked anyway! All his dad had to do was watch! And if Morty knew Rick, (and he did) this was just a warmup, and he’d be dealing with worse soon enough.

Jerry gaped at his son, turned to Beth (who seemed unperturbed by Morty's outburst), and turned back, a little pink in the face. How dare Morty talk to him like that! He chanced a glance at Rick, but figured that berating Morty might look like he was putting himself above Rick on the patriarchal hierarchy, which would not win him any favors. He clenched his jaw and sat back, folding his arms. This wasn't the last Morty would hear about this. Jerry's discipline style was obviously nothing compared to Rick's, but he'd be damned before he let his own damn son talk to him like that and get away with it.

"Right you are, Morty," Rick said, sounding supremely sunny. "This is supposed to be motivational for the rest of you. If y-you're good, you could be over my lap just like Morty here -- havEEUGGHHing a whale of a time." He gave Jerry a once-over, and he didn't even have to say it to make it clear: not that it's likely you'll be in my good books anytime soon.

He focused his efforts on Morty once more, taking his time to torment Morty's ass with his dry finger before finally withdrawing it. "All that complaining," he sighed. "Y-you and I both know you're happiest when you've got something up your ass, so why bother pretending otherwise? In fact," and here he turned to Beth, "maybe your mom can help me out. Beth, there's a ziplock bag in the fridge I'd like you to go and get."

For the first time since he had laid down, Morty bucked slightly against Rick’s palm resting in the small of his back. The only things Rick kept in the fridge were booze, alien body parts, and most scandalously: expertly whittled plugs of fragrant ginger.

“Mmmm—” Morty fretted. He didn’t want to complain and jolt Rick out of his rare good mood, but those darn ginger plugs were very, very unfair! Plus, if it was embarrassing to have a finger up his ass, how much worse it would be to have a thick piece of root wedged up there, doubtlessly right before the spanking which would continue unhampered.

“Aww Riiick—” he tried half-heartedly, knowing it was a useless entreaty, but feeling like he had to try anyway. Why couldn’t he get more of a rub-down instead? This was a good spanking anyway! Deep in his core however, Morty uncomfortably acknowledged to himself that the plug was probably precisely what was about to make the spanking go from good to great. He shook his head at his own traitorous musings, and decided to switch tactics.

“Y-you could—leave your finger instead—” he attempted lamely, but it didn’t sound believable even to his own ears. His bulge throbbed demandingly, and quickly losing the battle, Morty rubbed his face against the cushion as he talked into the couch with a muffled voice, “I don’t wanna have a—get a, a figging in front of everybodyyy…” And as if to accentuate his thorough embarrassment, a nervous little shudder ran down his back as he felt himself getting tense over Rick’s lap, even though he was mentally coaching himself to relax so the plug would go in smoother.

"Didn't I say I'd make it worth your while, baby?" Rick cooed, patting Morty's ass lovingly as Beth, a little bemused, went to fetch the requested bag. "Y-you know you're gonna have a great time squirming and crying where everyone can see you." His hand crept up Morty's back to stroke the back of his neck. "There's nEEUGHHothing that gets that little dick of yours leaking more than a bit of discomfort, so stop whining. In fact, you can start being grateful."

Beth returned, silently handing the bag to her father, who took it from her with a gracious nod and motioned for her to sit down again. Jerry and Summer looked on with a mix of concern and curiosity. Figging? What the hell was that? If Morty's reaction was anything to go by, it wouldn't be anything pleasant -- and Summer found herself not wholly averse to the idea of watching her little brother writhe around on her grandfather's lap.

"Before I -- before you get what you so obviously need, Morty," Rick said, opening the bag and taking out the cold ginger root, "you're gonna ask me for it real nicely. You're gonna convince me that I should indulge you instead of just sending you to bed immediately. So let's hear it." He examined the ginger root -- Beth had chosen one of the thicker ones. It'd been waiting in the fridge for almost a week and was sure to be a lot tougher to handle than fresh ginger would've been.

“Awwww c’mon—Rick, y-you—this-this—” Morty wriggled in place, frustrated and needy and humiliated. Having to ask for the torment he wanted—or needed if Rick was to be believed was often worse than whatever he ended up receiving. To have something forced on you is one matter, to humble yourself and beg…that was another matter entirely.

Morty was certain that he’d get just as much out of this experience even if Rick sent everyone to bed right now, so it was an exercise in self-control to submit. But that was probably part of Rick’s fun, the boy figured. Willing submission versus obligatory compliance. While Morty held back sass with fast-diminishing willpower, he cleared his throat uncomfortably and made a first attempt.

“R-rick, I w-w-w-w—” Well, that was terrible. Morty was certain at this point the blush in his cheeks probably had extended to the entirety of his person. Was this a test, or a showcase? Was Rick just flexing his power and control over Morty or was he purposefully needling Morty’s minor areas of resistance for entertainment? Was it both? Morty was suddenly aware of how quiet the room was and groaned to himself. There was no escape.

“Okay, okay—” He took a deep breath, and tried again, his voice wavering on each syllable as he stumbled along, “I, um…I’ve been w-wanting—I need—” Fuck. Why was this so hard?

Closing his eyes, Morty hoped third time was the charm, “Rick, I m-missed you.” He said earnestly, “I l-like going on adventures but I w-want ermm—spe-special attention too, and I—“ here he sighed ruefully, no matter how many times Rick made him admit it out loud, it never got easier, “I w-want…need…spankings to remind me you care an it’s…an it’s been a while.” Morty would’ve liked to just end it by asking to be ‘taken care of’ but figured Rick was requiring a more detailed request since the family was present. “So m-may I—please, um, please use that ginger plug,” (another sigh) “—on me, and g-give me a good spanking like I deserve.”

That third attempt even had Rick melting a little. Morty really had missed him, hadn't he? It was a little mean to force Morty to prostrate himself in front of God and everyone on a Tuesday, but Rick just couldn't help himself. A humiliated Morty was just such a treat. "Of course I care, Morty," he said, the pointy end of the ginger root pressing up against Morty's asshole. "Grandpa's gonna give you everything you want." He slowly, meticulously pushed the ginger inside Morty, taking a cruel moment to let the widest part of it really stretch the tight rim before allowing Morty's ass to suck it in. It was thick and tapered enough, and the base was wide enough to ensure it'd stay wedged firmly in there until Rick deigned to remove it. "Cold?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer to that question was. "Let -- eeughh, I'll, I'll warm you right up, Morty."

True to his word, his hand came down on Morty's ass again and again, the pink skin now taking on a decidedly redder hue. It'd be a few minutes before the ginger started doing its work properly, and Rick decided to bridge the gap by messing around with Morty a bit more. "New position," he announced, grabbing Morty by the waist and putting him on his feet. "Wheelbarrow. Chop chop." It wasn't a position they used often, but it'd ensure Morty couldn't hide his face in the sofa cushions anymore. He helped Morty shift around until he had his legs spread on either side of Rick, his ass on Rick's lap, and his arms on the ground. While supremely uncomfortable and humiliating (or perhaps because of that) it was one of Rick's absolute favorite positions -- if only because it allowed him to monitor his grandson's crotch.

He did just that, running one fingertip along the length of Morty's dick -- which seemed to be having quite the time, even if Morty himself pretended he wasn't. He gave it a few magnanimous tugs before abandoning it altogether. In this position, Morty was facing his sister directly. "Look up, Morty."

Morty whined in the back of his throat through the entire shift, begging with his eyes once he was on his feet, but of course Rick just grinned devilishly at him and continued to give directions. 

It was only once he had settled into position: forearms on the floor, back arched, ass proudly in the air over Rick's lap, cheeks spread for all to see, that the ginger began to demand his attention. 

"Oooo-oooo!" Wiggling with conviction now, Morty could no longer rein in his verbal appreciation (or reproach) and gasped, grumbled and sniffled as Rick settled in himself. 

And then that terrible, tantalizing finger traced him from taint to tip and Morty nearly lost control entirely. "Jeez! " he whimpered, sighing hard over those glorious little touches, until a second later they stopped. His asshole stung mightily now, and it was hard to stay still and not fidget, but at least if he kept his bottom relatively relaxed, it hurt less. 

"Pleeease, Rick--" please what? Morty didn't know. But unable to beg for leniency and discouraged from sassing now that his ass was stuffed with ginger, Morty had precious little else to say except "please, mmmm--it re-really stings, Riii-hiiick--"  

But at Rick's command, he lifted his head up from where he had been staring at the carpet and forced his eyes up to Summer who was staring with pure fascination and perhaps delight... Or maybe longing... Either way, having to acknowledge the fact that he was being watched prompted the first quiet tear to slip down his cheek, even as he rutted slightly into Rick's lap from all the stimulation.

"Such a good boy," Rick said, well aware (judging by the way he trembled and squirmed) that Morty was beginning to have some difficulties with the parameters Rick had set for this supposed reward. "Y-you're so good for grandpa." He put his hands on Morty's entirely exposed ass, spreading his fingers and rubbing in the burn of the previous swats. "You know what comes next, Morty. You gotta clench. Clench and hold it for five seconds, and then you can let go." His hand curled around Morty's dick once more, but he waited for his grandson to comply before properly jacking him off -- but only for as long as those five seconds. The moment Morty relaxed, he let go of Morty's dick, and promptly resumed his hand spanking.

In their current position, his swats were focused less on the very center of Morty's ass, and moreso on the edges which had until now not seen much abuse. He made sure to give some attention to the sensitive skin right at the inside, too, spreading Morty's ass even more with one hand and delivering a quick succession of stinging slaps to the previously unmarked skin. Before long, Morty's ass was all aglow.

While Summer seemed to be enjoying the experience, Jerry and Beth seemed more withdrawn. Perhaps Morty's whining and whimpering wasn't that convincing. "Looks like your folks are worried about you, Morty," he said sleazily, smacking Morty's ass as he paused. "Maybe -- y-you miEEUGHght wanna remind 'em that you're having a real, real good time." Another smarmy smirk. "Clench while you tell 'em. Or I'll make you clench."

"Rick, c'mon," Jerry protested meekly, but one look from Rick shut him up immediately. Jerry strongly doubted whether Morty was really having such a good time, but there was no way he was about to jump between Rick and whoever he'd set his sights on. He couldn't really imagine what that ginger was like, but judging by Morty's increasingly distressed reaction to it, it wasn't anything he was interested in experiencing for himself.

"Riiiick--" was nothing sacred?? Must he narrate the entire spanking? Morty shifted slightly to the side to bump his shoulder against the inside of Rick's shin as he launched a soft protest. 

"They won't--ahhh! The-they won't believe me anyway, y-you frightened them, you know."

But obediently, the youngest Smith steadied himself on his arms, gathered his thoughts and took a deep breath, before clenching. Then in one fast breath: "I like it okay? I'm hard because I like it, I'm weird or something or-or-or whatever--I've had worse so much worse, god--j-j-just-I mean I lo-look, Rick doesn't lie, if he says this is reward just imagine what my punishments are like this is nothing, okay??" 

And then with an enormous exhale, Morty unclenched and groaned in relief as the burning subsided, but only slightly. 

However as he realized what he said he nervously wiggled and tried to turn enough to glance over his shoulder, "w-wwwait wait, I mean, this isn't nothing, Rick, I didn't mean it's nothing--it's, it's easier to--oh God, I'm grateful, re-really--ah jeez, please Rick, I'm--th-thank you for--aahchh. It's n-n it's n-not nothing!" 

He couldn't turn enough to see Rick so Morty squeezed his knees into Rick's sides begging silently that he hadn't just fucked up. And all the while, the burn in his asshole and the stinging of his rightly smacked cheeks, prompted his sniffles to come with greater frequency and a few more errant tears to appear. Still,  a handspanking could be endured for a very long time, and Morty knew what would qualify as a good spanking was still a ways off.

Morty's little non-verbal attempts to mollify Rick were a little endearing, but altogether ineffective. Something Morty had to be aware of as well, as he still followed Rick's instructions to the letter. Such a good kid. Rick smiled down at his grandson as he managed to get through a passable confirmation that yes, he was indeed having a good time. Judging from the look on Jerry's face, he wasn't entirely convinced, but Beth and Summer seemed slightly more at ease. Presumably they were thinking of their own 'rewarding' run-ins with Rick, and remembered that even Rick's favor came with equal measures of pain and pleasure.

"Calm your tits," Rick said, rolling his eyes. "You're not gonna get in trouble. This is meant to be a reward, remember? So settle down." He patted Morty's glowing ass, before pulling his arm back, building up momentum to deliver a truly thunderous wallop. The sound of skin on skin was as gratifying as it always was, and Rick noted with satisfaction that for a brief moment, a perfect outline of his hand glowed in white on Morty's reddened cheek. Morty was close to tears, that much was obvious -- and while he'd like to keep up his handiwork for a while longer, he considered going a bit easier on Morty today. Morty's good boy spankings were usually a bit harsher than the kind of reward spankings he dealt out to Beth and Summer, but even he had his limits. His limits, yes -- and his preferences.

"C-can never be sure with you." Morty dryly retorted, and then yelped in agony as a fiery swat burned itself into his butt. His fingers dug into the carpet and he coughed out a long low groan as his ass continued to burn both inside and out, but lord, what a delectable burn. 

"Y-you want the belt, boy?" Rick asked, knowing full well that out of all implements, this was Morty's favorite -- insofar as one could have a 'favorite' instrument of torture. Beth let out an audible gasp of dismay, and Rick's head snapped towards her. "Looks like your -- eeuughh ---- mom's not feeling it," he said, giving a little shrug, and continuing his hand spanking -- but his slaps seemed torturously light to what he'd been treating Morty to before. "F-far be it from me to go against your mother's wishes. Guess she's the one you gotta convince."

At the mention of the belt, Morty's head raised slightly from its formerly bowed position as if they boy had to be certain he heard correctly. Although it was a scary implement, a belt had a feel completely unique to anything else. Even straps didn't quite perfectly mimic the swing, the sound, the exquisite heat from a well-placed welt. And Rick happened to be a pro with belts. Shivering with anticipation Morty bit his lip as he tried in vain to disguise the grin that spread across his face. 

But Rick's suggestion he convince his mom nearly prompted a scoff of annoyance from the poor boy but he managed to catch it as he cast his eyes over to his mother. Unable to look into her eyes, he set his gaze at the wall to her left, a few inches from her face. 

"I-it's okay mom, I'm okay." Morty wondered suddenly under what circumstances she had experienced a belt to cause her to gasp with such distress. "I um... I, heh heh, y-y'know I actually like the uh, feeling of belts... It's not so bad if it's not a punishment." This was a lie; belts stung mightily whether or not it was for good or bad behavior but what was Morty supposed to say? Describe the finer details of his impact-play masochism? A white lie will suffice. 

"Y-you don't need to be scared for me mom, I'm really--it really is okay with me... I know I look horrible but-but-but I'm--I'm not so scared of Rick that I would lie to your face about something like this!" an important qualifier, since Morty frequently lied about all kinds of shenanigans. Pausing again, he wiped a few tears away to try and look less abused and more like he was enjoying himself (he was). "I am enjoying this... Less 'cuz Rick is making you all watch, but... I am. Promise."

"Liar," Rick said, but he didn't sound particularly malicious. He took hold of Morty's throbbing cock. "Y-you're loving the fact that we've got an audience." He gave it a few jerks -- just enough to keep Morty on the edge, but certainly not enough to send him over it. While Morty had some twisted fondness for the belt, Rick was well aware being belted was a lot more bearable if one was hard as a rock. After a climax it generally was decidedly less so.

Rick shot Beth an expectant look, and Beth was much too caught him in the fact that her own flesh and blood was getting off on a spanking right in front of her to put up much of a fight, so she simply nodded. She wasn't under any illusion that Rick cared about her opinion on the matter, but he seemed to be doing his damnedest to embarrass Morty. Not really the kind of thing she liked to witness, but there didn't seem to be a way around it. And to be fair... Morty really did look like he was having a blast. She became dimly aware of a dull throbbing between her own legs, but chose to pointedly ignore it.

"Very well," Rick said, and he grabbed Morty by the waist, put him on his feet, and promptly deposited him over sofa's arm rest. His ass was presented beautifully like this, and Rick couldn't help running a tender hand over it before undoing his belt and pulling it through the loops. Beth and Jerry had to suppress a shudder -- their memories associated with that sound were not particularly pleasant -- but Summer only seemed more intrigued, and crept forward a little until she was perching at the very end of her chair.

Rick folded up his belt, gave his palm a few experimental slaps, and moved next to Morty. "You're gonna tell me when you're close," he commanded. "If you shoot your wad before you've got my say-so this is gonna get real nasty real quick. Understood?" He let the belt drop onto Morty's upturned ass, allowing him to get reacquainted with the smooth leather before being smacked with it.

Humming with delight, particularly as Rick's warm, calloused palm rubbed across his sore ass so sweetly, Morty shifted himself slightly so he could get comfortable over the arm of the couch. He didn't notice his parents wincing at the sound of Rick removing his belt, because Morty was too busy trembling with pleasure and arching his back expectantly.  He would've liked to ask Rick to remove the ginger for crying out loud, but sensed that although this was still a reward, it was a very fine line he had to toe. 

"I wooon't--" it came out whinier than he intended but Rick was being really tough today and Morty had been golden so far. There was a teeny tiny part of Morty that had a bit of a thrill at the idea of cumming early and inciting Rick's wrath on purpose. Luckily, Morty's sense of self-preservation was much stronger than that. "I'll--y-yes sir,  I'll tell you." but when the smooth leather tapped his skin lightly, he groaned low and long into the couch as he wiggled his butt to try and prepare himself. He was already close, but he was hoping clenching down on the ginger during his beating would at least help him keep orgasm at bay.

"Good," Rick said, and walloped Morty's ass with the belt. The sound of the belt was especially vicious in the silence of the living room, and Rick did not give Morty any respite -- the second smack followed immediately, and a third, a fourth, a fifth. Only then did he pause to rub Morty's ass down. It was now scorching hot to the touch, but Morty's experience with Rick's brand of discipline meant he did not bruise as easily as his family members, and his ass was still a beautifully suffused, even red.

"Beautiful," Rick murmured, taking a moment to pull out the ginger almost all the way before letting Morty's ass suck it back in. "Can't believe I waited this long to -- eeughh -- do this," he said. "Y-you're, you're a real gem, Morty." This was true. Morty was by far his favorite victim to properly lay into -- if only because he was such an unabashed slut for it.

The pause was only a short one, and again the belt reared back to bite into Morty's skin once more. Rick's strength did not seem to be diminishing; each thwack at as much force behind it as the one before it, if not more. If Rick was getting at all tired, he was doing a great job not letting that on. After another five whacks, he paused again to kneel next to Morty, tugging on his hair without much gentleness to force him to look him in the eye. "Still good?" he asked, baring his yellow teeth in what was probably supposed to be a genuine smile but came across as something much more predatory.

Morty cried out with each searing stripe that was delivered soundly unto his person. It goes to show what a long warm up can prepare one for however, as he was still handling the belt with perfect posture, even making attempts to arch more and more for each swat--offering himself to the belt like the slut he and Rick both knew he was. Rick's praise shot straight to his heart and an emotional sob rumbled through him right as the first swat of the next five descended. 

The ginger was really a help even if Morty would never admit it. Clenching down involuntarily after each swat helped him control his boner slightly as the pain from the belt was lovely, but the stinging from the plug was awful and irritating. Still, the combined sensations, the audience present for the scene, the wonderfully deep throbbing pain in his ass that seemed to spread warmth through his body, the spectacle was fucking perfect. Rick was right as usual; he really was making the reward worthwhile. 

All these jumbled up emotions and sensations descended in a haze onto Morty with such force that when Rick yanked him up by his curls, he sputtered out an exhausted, flirty giggle as his face beamed up at Rick through tears and sweat. 

"hic--y-yeahhh, I'm-I'm ssstill, (sniff) still good--heh, re-reeeal good, (sniff) thhank-thankyou--"

"I-I'm glad, Morty," Rick said, and for a moment it seemed as if he would kiss Morty's teary cheek, but the moment passed as soon as it had announced itself. Morty seemed to be descending into subspace deeper and deeper with every swat, which suited Rick just fine. It'd make the final act of this depraved little play a lot easier for Morty. He got up with a grunt and resumed his position by Morty's side. "Last ten," he announced. "Enjoy 'em." A command that'd usually be sarcastic, but he knew Morty would take it to heart.

Again and again the belt came down, although Rick left longer and longer pauses between each swat, allowing Morty to really savor the sting. Having three witnesses was part of the fun, but at this point, they were all but forgotten -- he couldn't take his eyes off of his pervy grandson who seemed so intent to impress Rick, so dedicated to taking his beating like a champ, and so committed to following Rick's every instruction. The way he presented himself after every swat tugged at his heartstrings for sure (albeit a bit less than it seemed to tug at the bulge in his slacks). "Last five," he said, before stepping forward and working the plug out of Morty's ass. "Push it out, baby." He put it back in the ziplock bag, carelessly threw it on the ground, and prepared to make these last five count. The ginger's effect wouldn't be wearing off too quickly, but at least Morty would get to enjoy these last five smacks without something up his ass.

Knowing the scene (or this part of it) was coming to an end, Rick felt no need to hold back. He put his full weight behind the final five -- they really were five of the best, and the penultimate one he viciously aimed at Morty's sit spot, which had heretofore avoided most of the abuse. "Last one," he said. "You're-you're being real, real good, Morty. Grandpa's proud." And there it was -- the final thwack, and then he was helping Morty off of the couch, sitting down, and pulling his grandson into his lap.

The second the plug popped out of his ass, Morty exhaled hard and the relief alone produced a few more sobs of mixed pain and joy. Rick's voice was now the only thing Morty was focused on--that and the impressive heat in his ass. 

Rick's final five swats were ones to remember, and Morty screamed out for each one, save the last, which landed right on the lowest curve of his bottom and came the closest to making him move out of position. He screeched Rick's name before collapsing over the arm of the couch,  tiredly humping into the side to give his boner something to do as he tried to breathe. He let Rick pull him up and gather him into his lap, letting his arms limply cling to his grandfather and hissing everytime something brushed his ass.  But he was warm all over and positively tingling with the need to release. In fact, as soon as he was straddling Rick, Morty began grinding into the solid lap beneath him. 

"I'm--I r-really want to-- need to-to--please Rick, can I cum yet?" beneath his own cock leaking precum, Rick's bulge was growing larger by the second, and Morty rubbed his naked dick against the clothed one, inhibitions completely beaten out of him. "I don't think I can--I can last a lot longer--jeez..."

If Morty thought his ordeal was over, he was sorely mistaken. "Not yet," Rick grinned, running his rough hands down Morty's back to grab two handfuls of thoroughly punished ass. "Y'know, Morty -- this has been real selfish, y-y'know? We've been having such a good time and your poor sister and y-your, your mom and dad have just been sitting there watching." He grabbed Morty by the hips and lifted him up a little, making it impossible for him to continue humping his lap. "I think it's about time we involve them."

He glanced around the room. Summer looked almost too eager, although she was trying to hide it with an entirely transparent veil of nonchalance. That wouldn't do -- he couldn't spoil Morty too much or he'd just start expecting the moon from now on. He slowly turned towards his daughter and her pitiful husband, and sucked in a breath, nodding approvingly. "The only way you're gonna be allowed to get off, Morty," he began, weighing his words carefully, "is by grinding up -- by-by humping your mom. Or your dad," he winked, "I'm not picky."

He gently but insistently pushed Morty off of his lap -- there was clearly no way around this. "The only way, Morty," he repeated. "Of course you're free to just go to bed like this, but if I catch you take-taking -- eeugghh care of yourself, y-you're gonna regret crossing me with an already blistered butt."

Morty's hands which had been resting gently against Rick's chest tightened into fists and the hazy warmth that flooded him dimmed slightly. 

"W-what!" he pulled back to look at Rick's face, but his grandfather was absolutely serious. How could he--How dare he-- but where a couple years ago Morty might have dissolved into angry crying, the boy grit his teeth instead and half turned to look at the assembled family around them. His father was coming apart at the seams, looking everywhere but at the couch where they sat. His sister was very obviously into what she was watching and the sight of her so thoroughly enjoying his torment felt incredibly traitorous to Morty, but he stomped down his injured feelings and shifted his eyes finally to his mother. She really was beautiful.  Even before being de-aged, Morty had a soft spot for his smart, talented, sarcastic mom, and that she was a knockout was icing on the cake. He looked at her face this time,  where before he couldn't, and she met his eyes as they stared at each other across the living room. Suddenly Morty wanted to just be held by her. The depravity of the situation, the doe-eyed, concerned, non-judgmental way she gazed at him, the searing pain in his ass, it all converged on the poor boy in a moment. 

He turned his back to her again just so he wouldn't have to see her, and the suggestion that he should hump his beautiful, perfect mother to satisfy himself, right after she had to watch him indulge his masochism with a beating... It made him go half-soft. It's not quite that the idea didn't intrigue him, goodness knows, he'd thought about Summer a few times more since that fateful afternoon... But not like this--somehow Morty couldn't swallow down the horrible way he felt. 

"No." he whispered. Mostly to himself, but with Rick merely inches away he probably heard it. Keeping his head bowed to disguise fresh tears of frustration and fatigue, Morty did his best to answer politely even if he was close to punching Rick square in the mouth at the moment. 

"I'll go upstairs--like... Like this." he mumbled woodenly, his ass throbbed angrily with each step he took, but it wasn't as bad as he knew it could be... Really, for a belting Rick had gone relatively easy on him. But he was humiliated, and hadn't even been given the real prize: a Rick induced orgasm, even though he'd been so good! Logically, Morty realized he should've guessed the old man would have some tricks left up his sleeve, but emotionally, all Morty could think about was he should have just busted early and taken the consequences. Dejected and bitter, Morty turned toward the stairs, bottom on display, keen to make his exit before he tried to fistfight Rick. An occurrence which only happened on rare occasions, and Morty always severely regretted it--but like Beth, he had inherited a fiery and savage anger from the Sanchez side of the family, it just took him longer than most to get there. 

"May I be excused?"

Rick made an effort to keep any disappointment from showing on his face. He'd really thought he had Morty there. Playing Morty was usually a bit of a challenge, but it wasn't often that Rick miscalculated these days, and it really was a shame. He'd quite been looking forward to watching a sweaty-faced Morty grind up against his disgusted mother's leg. Alas, it was not to be. At least if Morty got it in his head to disobey Rick and take matters into his own hands, there'd be some fun to be had there. 

"Dismissed," Rick said with a little wave of his hand. "All of you. Lights out in ten." He grabbed the remote control and flicked on the TV. Clearly this particular family meeting had now come to an end. Jerry got up immediately and hurried up the stairs after his son, and Summer too made her way upstairs. But Beth lingered.

"Dad?" she asked over the noise of the TV. He pretended not to hear her, so she decided to be ballsy and stood between him and the screen. "Dad."

"What?" Rick peered around her at the umpteenth Ballfondlers rerun. 

"You can't... don't go so hard on him. He's just a kid." Beth folded her arms. Rick might consider himself the patriarch of the family, but she was still a mother first and foremost -- and to see Morty treated this unfairly awakened maternal instincts in her that she tried her hardest to suppress whenever one of her children found themselves over Rick's knee. 

"I-I stand by what I said, Beth," was Rick's curt reply. "If I find out he jacked himself off he's in trouble." He gave her a pointed look. "He's not getting off that easily."

And perhaps it was that meaningful look that made up Beth's mind for her. She turned on her heel, marched up the stairs, straight into her son's bedroom.

Morty practically ran to his room and shut the door, leaning against it with his shoulder protectively for a moment. Fuck Rick. Although Rick was always on his case, that entire family meeting had just been unfair. And then no relief!! 

Immediately flinging himself onto his bed spanked-ass side down, Morty grasped his semi and huffed through clenched teeth. 

"Fuck you Rick." he said to the silent room. His ass throbbed and screamed in hot pain, but Morty relaxed and relished the feeling, tugging slowly on his cock as it fully returned. Of course he was going to jack off, Rick could go to hell with his thumb up his ass. When Morty claimed he had endured worse, it was true. Not that he  _ wanted  _ Rick's wrath, he just wasn't as scared of it as the rest of the family. 

"Shh-shit, heh--" Morty suddenly wondered how terrible the comeuppance would be if he took a picture of himself immediately post-nut and texted it to Rick... Maybe even with a caption: 'to save you the trouble of catching me in the act'

Morty shivered at the fantasy and quickly found himself getting closer at the thought of defying Rick so boldly. Boy that'd be fucking FUN. Might even be worth the hiding he'd get for it...

The door slammed open, and backlit by the light in the hallway, Beth made a truly ominous silhouette. She might have had the looks of a seventeen-year old, but her voice still had that thunderous sound to it that only came with almost two decades of motherhood. "What the hell are you doing?" She stalked over to the bed and grabbed her son by the wrist, roughly pulling it away. "What on earth are you thinking?!" she bristled, her grip on his wrist crushing. "He -- are you trying to get in trouble? Is this on purpose?! You know better than to provoke him! You of all people should know better!"

Although she sounded like fury incarnate, her eyes were wide with sincere concern and an attempt to understand her stupid, hormonal son. Being a teenage boy was fine and all, but defying Rick this brazenly was just too much. She still remembered that spanking Morty had received in the kitchen, even if he apparently didn't -- and that had been for something he hadn't even done. Going against Rick's orders like this would surely only lead to something even worse, and while she was sure Morty would be able to handle it, she wouldn't.

"Could you think of someone else for one second?" she hissed. "Do you think I want to see Rick beat the crap out of you?" Finally she let go of his wrist and she stood back, trembling slightly. "Dammit, Morty."

Morty scrambled away grabbing his pillow to cover his crotch. "Mom! Jeez, m-my door was closed!" Morty was instantly guilty, and seeing his mother so distraught, he felt he had to reassure her. 

"Aww,c’mon, Rick isn’t-- h-he wouldn't--I mean, he's not gonna kill me mom." Although,  Morty considered, there were times when he screamed like he was getting murdered; dramatics helped speed along a spanking honestly. "Rick is... An-an old fucking asshole mom, I'm-I'll be okay, jeez. I w-won't do anything, I'll stop okay? I'll stop and go to bed."

He said this as he inched more onto his bed, eager to escape his crazy family members and burrow beneath his covers. (where he resolved to still bust a nut in secret.)

"Of course he's not going to kill you," Beth seethed. "But we both know he can do things that are a lot worse. Do you not remember when he put your sister in that machine? I'm your mother, Morty -- I don't want to see that kind of thing!" She slumped a little. The heart of the matter was that she was powerless to stop Rick if he did decide to really destroy one of her children (or at least their backsides), and it made her not only feel horribly helpless, but like a shit mom as well. Rick had really managed to distort their whole family into something twisted and wholly inappropriate.

She sat down on the bed next to Morty. She'd already decided what she would do when she came up here, but inches away from her son it seemed a lot more difficult to actually put her plan into action. There was no way Morty wasn't lying about stopping -- he was a teenage boy, for Christ's sake. And Rick's only rule had been that he couldn't take care of himself. Beth wasn't covered by that statement.

She put a hand on the pillow before Morty could scoot out of her reach. "Take that pillow away," she commanded. Her voice wasn't as threatening as Rick's could be at his worst (and most dominant), but it was pretty damn close. She really was her father's daughter. "Take it away or I'll take it away for you."

A rush of blood shot to his groin and Morty almost rocked up into the pillow at his mom's command. So soon after getting a proper bottom warming, Morty was understandably susceptible to an authoritative presence. But he groaned in the back of his throat, reproachful and uncooperative as he slowly moved the pillow away, revealing his poor, long-denied cock. He was rock hard--his mother’s gaze only making him harder, and in the more familiar surroundings of his bedroom, he was actually able to take a breath. 

"Mom, I--I c-can't--" he looked at the ceiling, and wondered when his life had become so strange, "Aww jeeeez..."

"That's it," Beth said, sounding entirely sure of herself (even if her inner self was sounding the alarm -- was she really about to do this? Could she possibly forgive herself? Were there other options? Did she want to take those other options? Jesus, when had her life become so strange). "And what do you mean, you can't? You don't have to do anything. Just lie there." Here she took pity on him, because even though she really did think she was doing him a favor, she could understand that this was not the way Morty would have preferred the evening to unfold. It wasn't her favorite way to end the day either, but some things just had to be done.

Her soft hand curled around his cock -- so different from Rick's calloused palm. "Just enjoy it, sweetie," she said, and tried her hardest to suppress a shudder. Maybe it was best to avoid terms of endearment while she did this. It made her feel dirty to refer to her son in the same way she did when she helped him with his homework or made him breakfast. Or well -- it made her feel dirtier. Her grip was firm as she slowly began to work the shaft, sitting on the edge of her son's bed as if this was the most normal thing in the world. In their household, with the way things were these days, perhaps it was.

Morty winced at the petname and again when her hand finally grasped his dick, a lot firmer than he would've expected. His mother was projecting confidence which Morty wasn't sure was authentic, but he was happy to go along with the charade if it would it would end the night sooner. 

He really was desperate to bust anyway. Just a few warm slides of her hand, and Morty was already trying to not hump up into her palm.  With her seated this close, he could smell her fruity hair conditioner. Plus, the distinctly motherly way she looked at him, caring and soothing and softly stern... It seemed so wicked and inappropriate, but Morty was suddenly so grateful and full of love for his mom.

"You're being really good, Morty," Beth said, not sure whether she wanted to put him at ease or if she had just noticed how eagerly he'd responded to the paltry praise he'd gotten from Rick. Maybe both. The more Morty got into the handjob, the more detached she felt from the depravity of the situation. She'd given plenty of handjobs in her time -- this was just one more. And despite the cramp she'd get in her wrist when dealing with a particularly long-lasting kind of guy, it was something she quite enjoyed. There was something that made her feel positively powerful about taking control of a guy using nothing but her right hand. Men really were quite simple when it came down to it. Or most of them were -- her dad seemed to be the shining exception to this rule.

She finally moved her legs up on the bed as well, kneeling next to her son and using her free hand to stroke his hair. "That's it," she said again, the hand working his dick abandoning its efforts there to fondle his sack, slipping down further to run her fingertips along the part of Morty's ass that had seen the belt and that she could reach. He really did feel hot to the touch, even now, and she couldn't help her breath hitching in her throat. "Of all the things to be into, Morty," she sighed, well aware of the hypocrisy. She liked to think that she wasn't quite as masochistic as Morty... but was that really the truth?

Again her hand moved up to take Morty in hand, and she sped up, her rhythm even and predictable. "Is that okay, darling?" she said, inwardly cringing -- she just couldn't seem to keep the pet names out of her vocabulary.

Morty stared at the ceiling and stifled a groan unsuccessfully. As a preciously young teenager, handjobs were still a treat, and the warm, firm pressure from his mom's hand was almost heavenly after getting spanked and strapped. When her fingers reached down to graze his tortured skin, with such easy and tender familiarity, for the briefest of seconds, Morty forgot this was his mother. 

"S-sorry... I know... " he hoarsely admitted. It had taken a long time for Morty to be comfortable with his needs, especially because the person who typically fulfilled them was a family member. Still, it had been many weeks of pain-induced pleasure before he finally self acknowledged that maybe he needed more than just penetration. 

The pale fingers clasped him again and he tilted his head back and squeezed the covers in his hands as he tried to deal with the amazing sensation without letting on too much... If getting a handy from his mom was bad enough, how despicable of him to actually enjoy it! 

"Y-yeah it-it feels really good... I'm uh... I'm starting to g-get close..."

"You don't have to hold back for me, Morty," Beth said soothingly. She finally gave in to her tired limbs and stretched out next to her prone son, propping her head up with one hand as the other continued its depraved task. While there was something thrilling and illicit about the whole situation -- the lights down low, Morty naked from the waist down and moaning quietly, her own father downstairs probably thinking about the two of them -- it also seemed innocent somehow. Pure, perhaps. She was just helping Morty out; she was making sure he wouldn't get into undeserved trouble. A noble enough pursuit. The ends, after all, did justify the means. 

Not that the means were entirely without virtue. Morty's shirt had ridden up a little, exposing soft skin with just the barest hint of a treasure trail. Nothing more than peach fuzz, really. His toes curled even as he tried to seem unaffected, and he just kept avoiding her eyes. He was probably thinking of some little girlfriend, which Beth could only commend. Still, she felt some strange desire to make sure her son didn't forget it was her who was helping him out. She moved closer to him, her nose almost touching his sweaty curls. She breathed in deep before pressing a kiss to his temple. "Such a good boy," she murmured, subconsciously copying her father. 

She slowed down a little, her soft palm sliding up and down Morty's dick, her slim fingers varying the pressure and rhythm. "You can do this for your mom, right?" she murmured, her lips practically touching the shell of Morty's ear. "Come on, baby. For mommy."

Maybe Morty was just exhausted from a very humiliating, emotional evening. Or perhaps Rick's debauchery was rubbing off on him. Either way, he found himself more and more into the handjob he was receiving, and was becoming less quiet in his appreciation. With his mother stretched out beside him, he could feel her body heat and smell her strawberry conditioner stronger still, and he wondered what it would be like to sleep beside her every night... Did dad know how fucking lucky he was? 

"Jeez..." he bucked into her hand, and stretched his legs, tensing his thighs as he fought himself to stay reasonably quiet--or at least not writhe around like he typically did. "I--I mean, y-yeah--" a hard exhale at a particularly good stroke, "Fuck mom, y-you're so...so good at this..." he tilted his head closer to her as she learned down to him,  and breathed her sweet scent in. "You're good at everything." he said earnestly, growing oddly sentimental over the kindness she was showing him. 

The rebellious side of Morty still wanted to text a nasty picture to Rick, or otherwise provoke him, just so Morty might have the pleasure of pissing him off before the terrible consequences. But he found himself less and less concerned with Rick as his daughter, oddly similar to the family patriarch, beat him off. 

Her lips practically grazing his ear, Morty managed to relax enough that  he felt himself getting close. "J-jus-just like tha-aaaaat--oh my God." Arching his back as his nether regions flooded with heat, Morty's voice grew hoarse as a long-awaited orgasm violently rippled across him. 

"Mom--ah fuck!" Instead of a dramatic spurt, his cum dribbled out in several thick pumps of spunk that coated his Mother's hand, his cock, and ran onto his stomach. He shivered at the release, and sighed deeply, feeling drained both physically and emotionally.

Smiling almost beatifically, Beth reached over her son to grab the tissue box on his nightstand and wiped first her hand and then Morty's crotch and stomach. She got off the bed, deposited the crumpled tissues in Morty's paper bin (making a mental note to remind him to empty it tomorrow) and was about to leave when she made the mistake of turning around for one last look. 

Spent and exhausted, Morty looked even more vulnerable. It wasn't something she often saw in him anymore these days. Adventuring with Rick seemed to have toughened him up. "That was good, honey," she said, walking over to crouch at his side of the bed. "You did really well. I'm proud." She pressed her lips to his sweaty forehead, stroking his damp curls with a lingering tenderness. It was disgusting, all of it -- but this was what they had become ever since Rick started dictating the way they were all supposed to lead their lives. 

Maybe that wasn't fair. Maybe the potential for all of this had always been lying dormant in each and every one of them. She pulled away, the fondness with which she looked at her son tinged with something darker: regret, disgust, or perhaps something more obscene. She knew she had to leave, to salvage what was left of any normalcy in their relationship with each other. But how could she when there was that force that had pulled her here in the first place? "Lie on your stomach," she said. "I'll take care of you." And with that, she headed to the bathroom for her peppermint body butter. Its cooling effects had saved her ass quite a few times. She returned to Morty's room with the jar, and tried her hardest to ignore anything her conscience might be telling her. She couldn't abandon her son right now, could she? That'd be even worse!

Morty kept his eyes on the ceiling as his mother cleaned her hand off and slowly moved off the bed. If he only didn’t look at her—if he could just manage to ignore her for the last few moments… In his sleepy, warm and fatigued state of afterglow Morty knew he had a disposition to feel lovey-dovey over his partner (or perhaps in Rick’s case, assailant was a better term) and desperately wanted to avoid any such emotional entanglements with his mother. When she kissed his forehead so tenderly however, and touched his forehead with simultaneous motherly affection and a lover’s curiosity, the teenager’s gaze was drawn to her like a magnet, and he watched her every move as she quietly asked him to roll over.

And roll over he did, but not before straightening the bed, hurriedly tidying up his immediate vicinity out of self-conscious anxiety before climbing back onto his bed and laying (gratefully) on his stomach. When he heard the creak of his door announcing his mother’s reentry, Morty glanced over at the angelic presence and heard himself sigh.  When she approached his bed, Morty couldn’t maintain eye contact, and lowered his gaze.

“I u-uhh…appreciate—I mean, well…thanks, mom, I… I know you don’t need to do this.”

“I’m happy to do it,” Beth said, which was true. Her relationship with her dad was as fraught as it ever was, and she was getting increasingly more tired of being a shoulder for Jerry to cry on. Her rivalry with Summer was confusing as well as disturbing, but at least with Morty things were still relatively straightforward. As straightforward as anything would ever be in this household anyway. She stroked his cheek, patting it soothingly. “Just relax, Morty.”

Easier said than done, but she said it anyway. She opened the jar, the scent of peppermint and grapefruit lingered in the air, all the sweeter because of the contrast with the usual scent of Morty’s bedroom (typical teenage boy musk, only amplified by the fact he’d gotten off just now). She scooped out a generous dollop of the shea butter and began to rub it into Morty’s heated skin. She was gentle, or as gentle as she could be — her hand was steady, her touch light, her fingers following the curve of Morty’s ass as she made sure not a single square inch of reddened skin went uncovered.

“If Rick gives you any grief over this,” she said, continuing her calming massage, “you tell me about it straight away.” There was a grim set to her jaw. She knew her dad was the boss and she couldn’t do an awful lot to challenge him, but she really did feel he’d been unfair to Morty and she had absolutely no qualms about letting him know as much if he decided to punish Morty for doing absolutely nothing wrong. “He needs to understand that being in charge comes with responsibility.” Still her soft palm slid over Morty’s smooth skin, now slightly greasy and smelling of spearmint and citrus. “That’s better, isn’t it, darling?”

Morty choked on a snort of laughter and swallowed it down, doing his best to disguise it with a cough. His mother was sweet as honey, but really, if Rick  _ did  _ give him a hard time it was far more likely Morty would just deal with it and keep quiet. That was his role in the family anyway right? The person on whom Jerry pinned his vicarious aspirations... Summer's vent buddy...  The one Smith who didn't drive his mother to drink... No, Morty would silently bear any of Rick's trademark spontaneous cruelty if only to preserve others from the brunt of it. He was stronger. He could take it. 

And yet, the smooth hands spreading that cooling lotion on his fiery ass almost made him believe he could lean on his mother. Almost. Still, he'd seen her bottom-up and weepy eyed more than she him at this point, so Morty was still doubtful. 

"Y-yeah it feels--it feels a looot better, Mom." he leaned up to tiredly scrub at his eyes, "I d-don't want you to worry too much, I'll-I'll be OK, I'm not scared of Rick." this was a half-truth. Morty had a healthy fear of what Rick could do but also had the self-experience to know that even when Morty pushed his grandfather to the point of outright rage, he'd never come under actual permanent harm. A spanking can always be lived through... It wasn't like Rick was chopping limbs off.

Beth frowned. It felt a little like she was being comforted by Morty when it should be the other way around. When had Morty become this level-headed and — dare she say it? — dependable? Had she just not been paying enough attention to her second-born? Maybe she had been a little too focused on herself and her dad and her pitiful husband. Morty always seemed to be able to take care of himself. It was very possible that it was the very fact that she’d been neglecting him that had pushed him to become so self-sufficient. It pained her a little to admit that. He was too young to not need her anymore!

“Okay, okay,” she sighed, and got up, rubbing the excess body butter on her elbows. “I’ll try not to worry.” She bent over, decided against petting Morty’s hair with her still-greasy hands, and kissed his curls instead. “But try to put some trust in your mom, okay?” She smiled. “I’ve got your back, after all.” And with a pat on his behind, she left him to process the evening’s events on his own.

She stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, and contemplated going downstairs to have a proper talk with her father. Just what part had he played in Morty’s transformation, and should she berate him or thank him? She wasn’t entirely sure and thought against it, heading to the master bedroom to sort out her thoughts. Jerry was already snoring away, and she slid between the sheets next to him, folding her hands on her stomach and staring at the ceiling for a while before she, too, finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there have been a few times where East and I have missed fanart drawn about this fic, so please if you feel so inclined to bless the internets and your humble authors with art, please please let us know so we can cry and fawn over it <3


	11. Girls Just Wanna Have Fu-unnn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Summer and Beth pass the Bechdel test by talking about chores! Chores Summer may have neglected to take care of. But with Rick gone... what's a mom to do?

Dishes in the sink. Mud in the hallway. Long hair all over the bathroom. Beth had started her little tour of the house to see if there were any chores for her to catch up on, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the chore chart (helpfully designed by her and slightly less helpfully enforced by Rick) had been ignored. Not by everyone – Jerry’s chores were (unsurprisingly) done, especially now that he had a lot fewer of them what with his full-time job. A full-time job that remained a mystery. Jerry did seem a little more toned these days. Maybe he was working in construction somewhere? Morty’s chores too were mostly taken care of, and at any rate almost all of his chores consisted of some variety of assisting Rick. Beth, the main breadwinner of the family, barely had to do anything around the house, which was fair enough.

So why the dishes? Why the mud? Why those long, ginger hairs clogging up the shower drain and sticking to the sink and clumping together on the tiles? She contemplated – briefly – just taking care of all of it herself. It’s what she would have done before, and now that failure to comply with Rick’s rules and standards could result in some very nasty consequences she was even more inclined to protect her children. But at the same time, why should she? She was tired and frazzled and she got her ass beat too if she didn’t do what she was told!

Still unsure of the right course of action, she headed to Summer’s bedroom. Luckily Rick seemed to be out so at least she had some time to decide what to do. She’d seen Summer suffer a proper chastisement at her grandfather’s hands twice now and was not particularly eager to relive the experience. Still, what else was there to do? Maybe she could convince Summer to get off her ass and do some actual cleaning.

With a resolute nod, she knocked on Summer’s bedroom door.

Feet up, bra off, and hair down, Summer was relishing a quiet weekday afternoon in her room. With dad going off to work along with mom every day, and Rick and Morty on their usual adventures, she'd been blessed with more solitude than usual. Not that she minded of course. Ample time to browse Instagram and Facebook, do her nails, even fuck boys in her room! Although she hadn't bothered with that last one in a while... Admittedly she found herself comparing the boys in high school to her grandfather and they really didn't measure up in any significant way. 

Regardless, she was happy to indulge in 'Summertime' to her heart’s content. It'd been at least a full week since anyone had been spanked at family meeting, besides of course the moments where Rick would grab someone by the arm and deliver a baker’s dozen of smacks to a clothed bottom as a 'warning.' It almost felt normal. Hell at this point, it was normal. 

With a chuckle Summer continued scrolling down the gossipy Instagram page. At this point she doubted anything could feel abnormal. When she heard the knock, she didn't bother getting up. "It's open, you can come in!"

The door opened slowly. Beth was unsure what she’d find inside – Lord knew what Summer was blowing off her chores for. She deflated a little when she just found her daughter in comfortable clothes and on her phone. Not a surprising sight, but still a disappointing one. Nevertheless it was important that she didn’t approach this the way Rick would – none of that authoritarian bullshit. Summer was seventeen, old enough to be addressed like an adult.

“Hey,” she said, trying not to look too judgmentally at the messy desk and clothes on the floor. “I was in the bathroom just now and it’s a mess in there.” As innocently as she could manage: “I haven’t looked at the chore chart yet. Do you know whose turn it is?” She couldn’t help busying herself and bent over to pick up some discarded clothes – a sweater, a bra, a thong that was entirely too racy. Hm. Maybe better on the floor than on Summer’s actual body?

Summer’s gaze lazily glanced up from her phone to her mother. The blond was already picking up clothes from the floor and looking around her bedroom disapprovingly. “Mom, I’m gonna wear that later. You can just leave it.” Summer didn’t specify _what_ she was going to wear later, she just wanted her mom to stop fussing and picking up clothes.

“And, I dunno, me?” Summer turned her attention back to her phone. “It’s not like, that bad in the bathroom, I’ll clean it up later. Grandpa Rick’s not around anyway.”

The stupid chore chart had been the lamest new addition to family life yet. But incredibly, it seemed like the one thing Rick didn’t notice as much. Perhaps because he himself tended to operate in messy chaos himself. Plus, it was a bathroom. Bathrooms were always messy. 

Her mother was still standing amongst her clothes and high heels on the floor and Summer began scrolling on her phone again. “Okay mom byeee.”

“If you're gonna wear something again, put it away properly. Don't just throw it on the floor.” Beth folded the clothes she'd already picked up and put the pile on a clear corner of Summer’s desk, still trying her best not to nag. That was getting progressively more difficult with Summer acting the way she was. 

“Anyway, I think it might be your turn to clean the bathroom, yes,” she said, a fake smile plastered on her face. “And it's not just about Rick. We all have to pull our weight. It's not a hotel here.” Seeing Summer lounging about like this reminded her why she shouldn't be picking up after her kids – they really were more than capable of cleaning up their own shit, but apparently were just too lazy or inconsiderate to actually take action. 

“So I'd appreciate it,” she continued with endless maternal patience, “if you could get up and take care of that. Your phone can wait, I promise.”

“Moooom oh my god.” Summer directed this comment at the ceiling. “Are you like, about to use the bathroom or something? It’s fine, god.”

She glared at the pile of neatly folded clothes on her desk and then pushed her phone up to her face again and grimaced. Christ, her mother was so annoying. Why did she care anyway? She was (in appearance anyway) a teenager like everybody else in the damn house anyway, she should just relax. “Honestly mom,” Summer eyed her mother across the room, “I don’t even think Grandpa really cares about the bathroom, okay?”

Beth, who had come here with the very sincere motivation of saving Summer from a spanking, was beginning to find it increasingly difficult not to snap at her bratty daughter. How fucking hard was it to mop a floor and clean a mirror? Even if she'd only done one of those things, Beth probably would have been satisfied. 

“Maybe Rick doesn't care, but _I_ care, Summer,” she said, slowly, as if explaining something to an actual child. “And in this house we have to take each other’s feelings into account, and that means keeping up an acceptable standard of hygiene.” She took a deep breath. “When I tell you I would like the bathroom to be clean and you ignore me, it feels like you don't value my feelings or appreciate my own contributions to this household. I'm not cleaning the kitchen because I love it so much, you know?”

There. Proper parenting. Honest, emotionally mature, fair. Rick could learn a thing or two from her!

Summer smirked and actually lowered her phone just so she could see her mom’s face. “Mom that was like, sooooo many words just to say a messy bathroom is hurting your feelings or whatever.” Summer sank deeper into the pillows she was propped against. “Just don’t go in there ‘til after I clean it, like, you are really making this a big deal and it’s not.”

And just because she could, and just because Grandpa Rick wasn’t there, Summer got a little more daring. “Plus, Grandpa doesn’t care, I don’t even think he knows what messy means. So it’s fine. It’ll be clean in like,” she glanced at the time on her phone, “a couple hours or whatever, but way before he gets back home with Morty.” She went back on her phone with a raised eyebrow, hoping that this would deliver the message that this conversation was over. “Thanks for the reminder I guess, but yeah, bye mom.” Maybe before when her mom was a bit taller than her and actually looked her age, Summer might’ve been less difficult. But at present, the only authority figure worthy of recognition was an old drunk genius gallivanting around planets right now and Summer really didn’t give a shit.

Beth was properly gritting her teeth by now. Summer was a teenager, sure, but did she have to act like such a terrible one? Besides, she was almost an adult now! This sort of sulky, sassy bullshit should have been a thing of the past by now. “Like I said, Summer,” she tried one last time, “it’s important to me. I care.” She looked at her daughter for a moment longer, but Summer didn’t seem to want to look away from her phone anymore. “Alright,” Beth said icily, and turned on her heel and left the bedroom, resisting the urge to slam the door behind her.

Part of her really wanted to see Summer get her comeuppance at Rick’s hands now, but the rest of her remembered how horrible that had been, and like how much of a shitty mother she’d felt. And so, angry with herself most of all, she headed to the bathroom and began to scrub away the toothpaste stains in the sink. 

There was nothing like boring, repetitive, slightly disgusting chores to rile someone up from annoyed to seething, and it only took Beth glancing up at herself in the mirror (seeing the dark circles under her eyes from a week’s worth of night shifts, her hair dull and lifeless with how little time she’d had to pamper or even properly take care of herself, and her eyes burning with righteous indignation) to flip the switch. No, she didn’t want to see Rick destroy Summer. But like hell was she going to let her daughter give her this sort of attitude. She’d grabbed the bath brush before she even realized it and then she was marching back to Summer’s room, slamming open the door without knocking this time around.

“I thought it over,” she said, eerily calm, “and that was unacceptable. Stand up.”

When her mother had left, Summer had rolled her eyes at the retreating blond. But she did feel a twinge of regret when she heard the sink running and the sound of counters being ferociously scrubbed. It wasn’t enough to motivate her to get up and help though. Mom was just a micromanaging busybody who wanted to boss around the nurses at veterinarian office and then boss around her kids at home. Fine. 

So Summer had gone back to perusing skin care videos on YouTube without another thought. If mom wanted to kill herself over cleaning when Grandpa Rick wasn’t even around to get pissy, then that was certainly her prerogative!

When her bedroom door slammed open abruptly Summer dropped her phone into her lap and was instantly greeted by her profoundly pissed-off mother. Although merely seconds prior Summer had been reflecting on how young her mom looked, her face filled with fury went a long way toward her appearing as her former self. Her eyes landed on the bath brush gripped fiercely at her side, and her throat painfully constricted. This was a development she hadn’t anticipated. But of course, her mom was basically the same as her now! They’d even been punished beside each other! Plus, Grandpa Rick was _still not home_ and thus couldn’t necessarily provide backup. Summer glared over at her mother and made a calculated risk.

“Seriously mom? Yeah, pass.”

“I’m not asking you,” Beth said, her voice still dangerously level, “I’m telling you.” She stalked towards the bed, more than a little pleased to see her sudden arrival had startled Summer enough to at least make her drop that goddamn phone. Summer could try to continue her posturing and pouting all she wanted – for that split second after Beth had entered, she’d looked the exact same way she always used to look when she incurred Beth’s anger. As if everything that had happened between them and Rick (and even between just the two of them, never mind Rick) had just been a bad dream and they were just a normal mom and her normal daughter having a normal argument about normal chores.

Or maybe the argument wasn’t that normal – Beth tapped the bath brush against her thigh. There was plenty of shit she could blame Rick for, but before he’d started doling out corporal punishments she would never have dreamed of doing anything of the sort. Now, though… she saw that there was some value to it.

“I’m not like your grandfather,” she said, grabbing Summer by the arm and hauling her off of the bed. “I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to accept your discipline. I’m your mother, and if you think I’ll put up with this kind of attitude when I _know_ you wouldn’t dream of treating Rick this way, you are sorely mistaken.” She sat down on the bed, put the brush next to her, and pulled Summer to stand between her legs. “Emphasis on sore.” And with that, she took hold of Summer’s pants, and yanked them down.

It was as if everything was happening in slow motion. Summer felt her arm being grabbed, she saw herself dragged off her comfy nest of pillows but somehow couldn’t seem to react until her pants were suddenly tightly bunched around her thighs. 

“Mom _NO!”_ But she was already being pushed down, and although she struggled against the firm, but somehow still gentle hand at the small of her back, ultimately her mother won out. “STOP!” But her mother didn’t stop. In fact, although Summer was now face down on her bed and couldn’t clearly see behind her, it rather felt like her mother was taking her time to get her positioned properly over her knee. 

Over her knee. The realization echoed through Summer’s brain and she redoubled her efforts to squirm--panicking at the thought of a spanking, and a spanking from her mother no less!

“You can’t--” Summer squeezed the covers angrily, “You can’t! You’re the--you’re like me! You even got spanked next to me! You can’t do this mom, I’ll--” Summer grasped at straws. “I’ll tell Grandpa!!”

And as soon as the words left her mouth, something ugly and cold roiled through her stomach and Summer shivered--vulnerable only physically as she emotionally threw up a wall. Grandpa Rick was not gonna care. In fact, Summer theorized that she might even get punished twice! She _hadn’t_ after all, done her chores. That was an objective truth. And while Grandpa Rick didn’t give a shit about the general cleanliness of the house as long as it didn’t impact him personally, she had no doubt her mother would frame this issue as a behavioral problem, or a rule-following problem, or whatever else she could twist it into to make it seem worse. There was no getting out of this, and that understanding just made Summer more incensed. 

“I am your mother, you are my child, and you can tell Rick whatever you like,” Beth said through gritted teeth as she swung one leg over Summer’s legs to stop her kicking and squirming quite as much. Sure, the moment Summer had made that threat her heart had skipped a beat (Rick would probably not be too amused to see her take matters into her own hands), but she figured any consequences would be worth it just to show her daughter that current circumstances be damned, she was still her mother, dammit!

“This is happening regardless,” she decided, and gripped the bath brush tightly. “Keep your hands away or I’ll smack them too.” This was immediately followed by a walloping smack to the seat of Summer’s panties, and another one in quick succession. “When you are assigned a chore, you are to do that chore, Summer,” she said, alternating between Summer’s cheeks as she slammed the long-handled brush down again and again. “You don’t put it off. You don’t _forget_. And you certainly don’t mouth off to me when I remind you!” That last command was accompanied by an exceptionally vicious swat.

Beth had never punished her kids like this. Not ever. But now that Rick had opened that can of disciplinary worms, she found she quite appreciated the experience. There was something about it that not only made her feel like her instructions would be heeded in the future, but that made her feel _powerful_ as well. Like she mattered. And in the Smith household in its current state, that was not a feeling she often got to experience.

“YEO-OWWCH!! YOU’RE--YOU--MOM!!” Summer writhed in place, kept still by that damned leg thrown across the back of her thighs, and a resolute hand cemented to the middle of her back. “It’s TOO HARD! Stooooooop--”

But she didn’t, instead the horrible bath brush seared into her ass even harder it seemed. Above the din of wood meeting flesh, and her own distressed caterwauling, Summer caught snatches of what sounded like a lecture, but she didn’t bother to pay attention. She already knew why she was here--and frankly, she had a good idea of why her mother was a sudden corporeal punishment convert. But neither of those things immediately mattered. Nothing mattered except the shocking pain exploding behind her. 

Despite her desire to endure this ridiculous comeuppance with staunch indifference, the lack of any sort of warm-up was torture. She flailed against the bed and kicked at the floor, and grabbed and twisted and rumpled the bedsheets in an effort to distract herself. For the briefest of moments, Summer remembered being bent over that horrible machine Grandpa Rick had created and experienced a bizarre flash of déjà vu due to the abrupt nature of both punishments. This was somehow worse however. Where before an impersonal paddle had swatted away in the same spot on a fixed schedule, her mother was covering her entire bottom in swats. What was more, the energetic nature of her mom’s spanking style, the self-satisfied tone of voice she lectured with, the _power_ behind each undaunted swat… this was infinitely more personal. 

But Summer couldn’t focus on her musings for long because her present situation commanded her full attention, and after what seemed like hundreds upon thousands of swats, she lost her composure and howled in agony and humiliation at the ceiling of her bedroom.

If anything, Summer’s complaining (which grew ever louder and ever more high-pitched) only spurred Beth on. Too hard? Good. She could go even harder. There was definitely an advantage to using an implement to spank someone – you saved your own hand while blistering their behind even better!

It was a workout in itself to keep Summer from writhing away entirely, but even though Beth’s breathing grew more labored (and her heart still raced with adrenaline from her earlier furious outburst), she was having a good time, really. It was always difficult to watch Rick take her kids in hand – he was so rough with them, and her maternal instincts made her want to protect them regardless of their transgressions. Still, being in charge of the punishment herself was a different feeling altogether – and in a way, she might be spanking Summer just as hard as Rick would have (or perhaps even harder).

Only after Summer had finally stopped trying to play it cool and was yowling with abandon did Beth let up. But her demeanor made it clear – they weren’t done yet. “Go clean that bathroom. I’ll come and check in twenty minutes, and if I’m not happy with what I see, you’ll be getting this and worse. Do I make myself clear?” She grabbed her wayward daughter by the ear and dragged her off of the bed. “Don’t test me on this, Summer!”

Her head spun as Summer was yanked back up onto her feet in snappy fashion and then pulled away from the side of the bed by her ear. “I’m going!” In her head, she said this with angry, forced submission, but as she said the words aloud, she already sounded thoroughly cowed, and she hated herself for it. The second her mother’s fingers left her sore ear, Summer was rushing out of the room, red bottom jiggling painfully behind her--still encased in panties, which honestly was what worried Summer the most. She knew her mother...and as the daughter of Rick Sanchez, Summer was certain her mom had plans to bare her bottom before she was through.

But for now--avoiding more of that terrible brush, which Summer made a mental note to burn at her earliest convenience. When she reached the bathroom, out of sight from the hallway, Summer finally allowed herself to clasp her bottom with both hands and groan unhappily. Catching sight of herself in the dirty mirror, Summer stared back at her reflection reproachfully. Tears streaked her face, and the tip of her nose was red, but she wasn’t really in tatters yet, which is typically how any period of time over Grandpa Rick’s lap ended. The teenager desperately wanted to go back to her room and tell her mother to shove it, but a spanking has a wonderfully neutralizing effect on any combative tendencies. Despite her fury, Summer obediently began to clean the bathroom. Truth be told, it was a bit gross. A pang of guilt made her heart clench inside her chest as she looked at the right side of counter where her mother had half-cleaned and compared it to the left, covered with red hair, and toothpaste and tissues and makeup and brown hair, and just _grime._

With twenty minutes counting down, she hurried to clean as best as she could. Dumped blue cleaning solution into the toilet to sit on the stains, washed the mirror, threw away every piece of garbage or paper on the counters, wiped surfaces down, and organized toothbrushes, makeup, bottles of cologne and mouthwash. Mom’s threat rang in her ears every time she was about to half-ass anything, and it annoyed Summer how effective it was. But her bottom was still on fire, and Summer truly believed if she pissed the blonde off she’d be more than happy to prove it wasn’t an empty threat. She had just finished scrubbing the toilet and was kneeling by the side of the tub scrubbing at soap scum when she heard footsteps in the hallway.

“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck--” Summer scrubbed harder and faster, but despite her effort was only a little more than half done by the time her mother appeared in the threshold, brush in hand, to inspect her work. “I--” Summer cringed, being on her knees like this with her mother standing over her like that really made her feel even smaller and more childish, and ever more humiliated. “I tried to finish!! I like, Mom really--I didn’t just sit in here!”

Beth strolled after her daughter when she first left the bedroom, staying away so she wouldn’t be seen, and listened. First a groan, then silence – it seemed for a moment that she might have to intervene sooner than she’d thought. But then (luckily, for Summer!) the sounds of frantic cleaning, of scrubbing and wiping and rinsing. Good. Beth looked at her watch, took note of the time, and went downstairs to read the newspaper a bit. Not something she usually had time for, but that was what happened when you delegated household tasks to other people – you had more time to yourself.

She was halfway through an opinion piece about nuclear power when she checked her watch again. Just about twenty minutes gone, and so she folded up the newspaper once more, straightened the vase of flowers on the table, and headed upstairs – but not before grabbing that oh-so-convincing bath brush.

Taking her sweet time, she walked up the stairs. Might as well give Summer a little more time to get one last task done. When she finally made it to the bathroom, she’d ensured her face was carefully wiped clean of any trace of empathy. She had no doubt that Summer would run circles around her if she gave her an inch of leeway and she was determined to avoid that at all costs. This couldn’t turn into a power struggle.

Summer’s excuses, then, fell on deaf ears. Beth ignored her, simply running a finger over the sink, peering in the toilet, giving the bathroom a once-over. “I can see that you tried,” she finally said. “But if you’d started cleaning when I first asked you you would have gotten it done easily by now.” She looked down at her contrite daughter. “So your lesson is not done. But considering you worked so hard – and you’ll be finishing this in a bit, I assure you – I won’t use the brush.”

She sat down on the edge of the tub, and patted her thigh. “Panties down and over my knee. Let’s make sure I won’t have to put in all this effort just to make you clean a bathroom next time around!”

Summer was not as well-versed in these rituals as Morty and her mother appeared to be. Before Grandpa Rick had taken over the house, the closest Summer ever came to anything like this was perhaps a frustrated slap or the accidental black eye she suffered from her drunk mother. Despite her relative inexperience, Summer was quickly beginning to realize something about herself. Namely, being forced to take a spanking was one thing. Offering yourself up by your own will was something else altogether. It was worse than humiliating, it was degrading. At least with her grandfather, Rick Sanchez was more similar to a treacherous, unstoppable hurricane than he was to a human, so submitting to him was half obedience and half plain self-preservation. 

But this was her mother! Of course, this Beth Smith was very different from the usual one Summer encountered. Her steely dedication to delivering a thorough smacking was unnerving and she was acting and speaking and moving so fast Summer barely had time to attempt to circumvent her mom’s plans.

Standing, Summer stuck her thumbs in the waistband of her panties but then froze. This wasn’t fair! She’d already been spanked enough! And she _did_ clean the bathroom! She opened her mouth to protest--her eyes landed on the bathbrush at her mother’s feet and she closed her lips again. Goddammit. Summer was stubborn, but that brush was Serious Business; not to mention the fact that her mom hadn’t gone easy on her in the first place! Her ass throbbed and gritting her teeth, she slowly shoved her panties down and walked over to her mother.

Stupid mom. Stupid bathroom. Stupid Grandpa Rick for getting everyone in this stupid family wrapped around his stern fingers!! Summed had already privately decided she would never speak to her mother again after this. She hated her, and it was only monumental self-control that stopped her from saying ‘fuck you’ as she finally, bitterly bent over the offered thigh and braced her hands on the cold bathtub floor.

There was that brief moment where Beth too was certain that this session was about to get a lot more physical and might even devolve into an all-out chase scene, or even a brawl. She wouldn’t have put it past her daughter, really – Morty seemed to take after Jerry and was mostly passive and placid (mostly, mostly), but Summer… well, Summer was more like _her_ , wasn’t she?

She caught that glance at the bath brush at her feet, and smiled a little. Of course Summer would pick her battles more carefully. She was smart like that. Once Summer assumed the position, she patted her burning bottom tenderly. “Good girl,” she said before she could catch herself, and her blood ran cold at the realization that she sounded almost exactly like her father.

Still, no way back now. She squared her shoulders, and although Summer’s ass was already hot to the touch, she began the hand spanking with vigor: smack after smack, turning Summer’s already reddened ass to a deep shade of crimson. Without the brush it was quite a bit harder on her hand, but it welt worthwhile all the same – if only because she no longer had to fight to keep Summer in position.

Finally she paused, and started rubbing Summer’s behind which she herself had just set ablaze. “What are you going to do in the future to avoid ending up in this position again, Summer?” she asked.

Summer wasn’t sure if this spanking seemed worse than Grandpa Rick’s because it actually was, or if being spanked simply wiped the victim’s memory of more unpleasant experiences in favor of the current one. Either way, Summer was angry and mortified and as her mother swiftly set fire to her backside all over again. She would never admit to it, but her heart rose when she was gently called a ‘good girl’ and the redhead stubbornly tamped down any kind feelings toward her mother as she resolved to finish her punishment and then run away forever, and not get caught by Grandpa Rick this time!

Grandpa Rick was supposed to be mean anyway! But her mom...this wasn’t supposed to happen! She wasn’t supposed to be stern and unyielding and such a bitch like this! She was supposed to--

A sharper swat than the rest caught her attention momentarily, and Summer choked out a miserable dry sob. She wanted to feel sorry for herself, but staring at the still-half-dirty tub floor, and hanging helplessly over a knee being spanked meant the only thing she could think about was her current position and past behavior and incredibly, she was beginning to feel sorry--and not just sorry for herself.

Oh that dreaded question. Summer rolled her eyes at it and decided that in the future, when she was right side up and not in trouble she would call out Grandpa Rick and her mother both for such inane question-and-answer sessions like this. “I’m…” 

She sniffed and pouted at the tub floor. Okay maybe she _had_ been a little mean to her mom, but shit, like, she couldn’t take it?? She was a mother! And yes, yes, the bathroom had been pretty dirty… and fine, it was her chore…

Summer hated feeling like she was wrong, and hated all the more that the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like this spanking was just a tiny bit justified. Certainly not this hard though! Her mother was going completely overboard! “I’m going to… make… make sure my chores are done properly and I won’t like… I won’t be a bi--I won’t be mean to you when you ask me to do something.”

It was a relief to hear Summer articulate not only the exact moral of the story that she was supposed to have taken away, but to also sound more genuine than she usually did when talking – well, when talking to _anyone_ , really. Beth wasn’t just glad that she didn’t have to take part in this mental mother-daughter tug-o-war anymore, but also that she could finally stop causing her own child pain, and start giving her comfort. She’d never been the warmest or gentlest of mother figures, but it still felt good to make your kids feel nice.

“Very good, Summer,” she praised the miserable heap of teenage woe over her knee, and she helped Summer out of her uncomfortable position and onto her knees on the bathroom tile floor. She took Summer’s face in her hands and kissed her ginger hair, feeling a sudden wave of affection for her beautiful, rebellious, standoffish, independent daughter.

“You did really well,” she said. “Both with cleaning the bathroom and taking your… discipline. I hope we won’t have to have a talk like this again in the future. Now come on, give me a hug.” And although it might have been Summer who’d been feeling nervous while waiting for her mother to inspect the bathroom, it was Beth’s heart that was racing now. Had she gone too far? Would Summer just storm off – and what could she do if Summer decided to do that? Go after her and punish her some more? No. Tell Rick? Absolutely not! Her insecurity showed just the tiniest bit on her smooth, youthful face – where it might have been hidden had she been in her original body.

Summer had expected to feel relief after she was done. She always felt relief when she knew her spanking had reached it’s end… What she hadn’t anticipated was the overwhelming wave of neediness that surged through her core as her mom helped her off her lap. She was still crying, and shoved her hands up into her face to scrub at her eyes--embarrassed to still be weepy even though her punishment had concluded. It was annoying and frustrating that her mom was being so nice after being so mean! 

The idea that she’d have to go through this again was unacceptable. As if having one smack-happy smartass in the house wasn’t enough, she now had two people to placate if she wanted to protect her poor butt. She was getting ready to huff indignantly but when her mother kissed her forehead so tenderly, the redhead had to fight from melting into more rueful tears then and there.

She let herself be pulled forward into a hug, and accepted it stiffly for a few seconds. But mom was so warm and smelled so nice, and… well… after all it could’ve been worse she supposed... She had relented and used her hand to finish. Exhausted from the ordeal, increment by increment Summer began to relax into the hug until she was pressed into her mother’s chest, sobbing heartily all over again muttering apologies that she was too proud to properly enunciate out loud. She stayed thusly until her tears had stopped, and then as awkwardly as she fell into the hug, she awkwardly pulled back to look away and play with her hair, embarrassed.

“Okay, I um... I’ll um… I’ll like, finish cl-cleaning now.” There was no good way to say ‘please get out I want to collect myself privately’ so Summer just inched away bit by bit until she was kneeling almost a foot away from where her mother sat on the side of the tub, trying her best to look like her usual nonchalant self.

How grateful Beth was that not only did Summer accept the embrace, but she actively, positively responded to it. She would have settled for a stiff, surly teenager submitting to being hugged – instead, she got a properly apologetic little girl clinging to her and sobbing against her chest. If she’d felt unsure about this whole punishment thing before, she knew without a doubt that she’d done the right thing now. Summer’s tears didn’t feel like something she’d be privy to if she’d been abusive or unfair to her. No, they felt cathartic – to Beth, and probably to Summer as well.

For her part, Beth made sure to rub her daughter’s back, whisper little encouraging phrases (“it’s alright,” “you did so well,” “it’s all better now”) and she pressed yet another kiss to Summer’s head. She could have stayed like this for quite a while, the position one she usually did not find herself in with Summer of all people, but of course it had to end – and she let Summer pull away without a word of protest.

Fortunately Beth was no stranger to needing a bit of time to oneself after an emotional ordeal (honestly, being married to Jerry had been one emotional ordeal after another) and she got up with a smile. “Good girl,” she said once more. “I’ll make you some tea when you’re ready. I’ll be downstairs.” Still, before she left, she ran a soft hand over her daughter’s hair once more. “That’s my good little girl,” she repeated, and she was halfway down the stairs before she realized that there was something unfamiliar in her stomach, something hot and dangerous and altogether inappropriate.

But Beth Smith was nothing if not an expert at denial and repression, and she chose not to examine that strange, roiling feeling – and instead began to fix her daughter a cup of tea, and herself… a glass of wine.

Summer cleaned the rest of the bathroom dutifully; even scrubbing the grout between the linoleum because why not, it's save time in the future. When the bathroom sparkled, she returned to her room, shed her clothes (which now smelled of bleach and sweat) and put a robe on to go downstairs where a much appreciated cup of tea was waiting. 

Walking was painful. Every step she took, her ass throbbed and Summer sighed as in her experience, that meant she'd be sore for at least two days. Mom had really spanked her too much… she was definitely the daughter of Rick Sanchez, two brutal peas in a pod. As she approached the kitchen, Summer absent-mindedly wondered which of her parents she took after. She prayed it was the Sanchez side. 

In the kitchen, her mother was into what was probably her second glass of wine, and the bottle of pinot noir sat on the table uncorked. The kettle bubbled cheerfully with hot water ready to be poured, and her mom had already set out the collection of teas they had on the counter so she could pick. 

Summer was really trying very hard to hold a grudge and was mildly annoyed her mom was making it so damn hard, but never one to decline being pampered, Summer gratefully sighed. 

"I'm more of like, a juice person I guess but y'know, tea actually sounds really good right now..." Forgetting what had transpired literally less than an hour ago, Summer sank into a chair, only to shoot right back up again, clutching her bottom and swallowing a yelp. Catching herself, she removed her hands and crossed her arms over her breasts instead, holding herself tightly as she tried to appear more composed than she felt.

Beth was about to tell her daughter off for looking a gift horse in the mouth like this, but found that karma dealt swift justice. She suppressed a smirk as Summer was painfully reminded of both her very recent punishment and her exact place in the family, and turned around to pour her a mug of hot water. “I imagine you’ll be standing at the table for a while,” she said. “Consider it a good way to remember to do your chores from now on.” She handed Summer her mug, pushed the box of tea towards her, and took a seat.

Sitting there with a glass of wine while her poor daughter had to stand with a sore ass and a cup of tea was gratifying in itself, and with the bathroom presumably restored to its once-pristine state, Beth finally felt relaxed – any residual resentment entirely gone. She even felt a sense of understanding towards her iron-handed father – sure, she hated it when he laid into one of them for some slight or other, but she had to admit that it did get results. And all it had cost her was a now slightly tender hand. Not a bad trade-off.

Still, having been on the receiving side of a spanking more than once, she was tactful enough not to bring up these insights with Summer. Besides… hopefully it wouldn’t be necessary again. Rick’s punishments had grown fewer in number too now that the Smith family knew what was expected of them. She wondered if they’d ever be able to do away with these corporal discipline sessions entirely.

(And, in a less conscious way, she wondered if she’d miss them.)

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the two women sharing a drink in the kitchen, a car pulled into the driveway.

Jerry was having a trying day. Not because of anything in particular, Jerry just tended to take things rather personally. First, Beth had made his least favorite breakfast this morning, cream of wheat, blech-- and then he’d been called in early to work. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue, but he already had a shift in the afternoon too, which meant Jerry was driving home now from a double shift. Along the way, he had stopped at the high school to pick up Morty from after-school remedial classes, but was curtly informed by a teacher that Rick had absconded with the boy an hour earlier. That had only further ruined Jerry’s mood.

So it was an irritable, exhausted, and rather petulant Jerry who arrived in the driveway and parked the car. Stepping out, he quickly stowed his dufflebag continuing his uniform in the trunk of the car--the tight red shorts and matching red v-neck emblazoned with the car company logo was as humiliating as it was fetching. Sure Jerry _told himself_ he hated the uniform, but he always spent an extra few minutes in the office locker room admiring the way his pert little butt looked in the shorts.

His stomach spoke up with a hungry grumble, and Jerry trotted inside, his mind focused on finding and nibbling on the leftover chicken and orzo casserole in the fridge from last night. As he stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted by the sight of his wife and daugher whipping around to look at him enter. 

“My two favorite ladies! How was--” Jerry stopped mid-sentence and stared. Something was wrong. He put the knuckles of his left hand against his eye and scrubbed nonexistent dirt away before looking into the kitchen again. Beth was well into a bottle of wine. Her glass, (which she tended to inappropriately fill all the way to the brim) was only filled with dregs, and in fact, her right hand cupped the bottom of the bottle as if he had entered just before she was about to pour another glass. But it was her demeanor that gave Jerry pause. His lovely wife appeared… not guilty exactly, but certainly furtive. Had she broken a rule? Jerry swallowed; _great_ , just great, were they all about to be treated to another horrendous family meeting tonight??

He looked at Summer, who stood, half turned to him, holding a mug protectively to her chest. Jerry furrowed his brow, why was she in a robe? He strode further into the kitchen, toward the fridge, befuddled and nervous. What was going on? “Ahem, h-how was everyone’s day? I tried to pick up Morty at school, but he’s… uh… well, with Rick, heh. Obviously, am I right?” 

Both Beth and Summer did not know how to respond straight away. Although they’d found themselves at odds earlier that afternoon, they were now silently united by a very simple pact – Jerry absolutely could not find out about what had transpired between the two of them. Neither one knew exactly why it was so vital that Jerry wouldn’t learn the truth about his wife’s new disciplinary style (it wasn’t like he had the balls to emulate it, after all) but the silent look that passed between the two of them made it clear enough that they agreed.

“Hi, honey,” Beth finally broke the awkward silence. “Uh… nothing much happened.” Another silence. She looked at Summer for assistance, but her daughter seemed preoccupied with sipping her tea (and clutching her robe tighter around herself). “But yeah… not, not too surprising that Morty would be with Dad!” A laugh would sound natural here, right? She laughed, and it immediately became clear that no, it did not sound natural.

Summer tried to help matters by joining in, the two girls forcing a chuckle at Jerry’s absolute non-joke. They trailed off in unison, and Beth decided that she might as well have that last glass of wine and proceeded to top off her glass. “How was your day?” she tried to change the subject to what would surely be less embarrassing (and less of a secret).

Something was definitely going on. Jerry didn’t know _what_ but he could tell there were secrets in this kitchen he was not privy to. Finding the tupperware with leftovers, he emerged from the fridge and set it on the counter as he looked for a fork. “Well I got called in for a double today, so I’m excited for dinner especially…” 

He found his fork, and immediately opened the tupperware and began munching on cold chicken. Beth was such a good cook. He glanced over to smile appreciatively at her, but found both his girls staring at each other with poorly disguised panic. Jerry walked to the table, sat down at the head of the table (usually Rick’s seat, Jerry noted haughtily) and tilted his head at Summer. “You aren’t gonna sit down, honey?”

He stared at her, still confused, but something in her face caught his eye. Was that--surely he was mistaken--but still… Now that he was closer, Jerry noticed Summer’s red-rimmed eyes, her nose looked chafed--as if it had been wiped quite a bit recently, and the awkward way she stood--leaning into the table with the front of her thighs. It looked like she was tired, but why wasn’t she relaxing? Why was… _oh._

Jerry felt his heart stutter--Rick had spanked Summer! But what had happened? What did she--no, Rick was with Morty, if they were home, Beth would’ve mentioned-- Jerry snapped his head to look at his wife. Keeping his eyes on Beth who was avoiding any and all eye contact with him, Jerry spoke again, quieter, and deeper. “Or is it… you can’t sit down?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Beth snapped at him, her defense mechanism (as always) being a good offense. “Why don’t you tell us about that double shift at your mystery job, huh? If we’re all going to be inquisitive about things, let’s start there! You’ve worked at – at god-knows-where for _months_ now and I haven’t seen any of your colleagues, or a-a-a uniform in the laundry, or anything! Just those paychecks! So let’s start there, alright?” Only after she had finished her rambling rant did she realize just how suspicious she’d made herself sound, and she sat back a little, nursing her wine and refusing to make further eye contact with Jerry. God, _Jerry_. Give the asshole an inch and he always took a mile!

Summer, for her part, really wanted to flee the scene. Not because she was scared of her dad or worried that he might tack on another punishment, ‘just you wait until your dad comes home!’ style, but the atmosphere was crazy awkward and from the way her dad was glaring daggers at her mom, it wasn’t about to get better anytime soon. Still – the look her mother shot her made it clear she was not to leave, and if there was one thing she had learned today it was not to cross her mother.

“Yeah, dad,” she tried to support her mom’s inquisition-style line of questioning. “I’m, like… I’ve been thinking of getting a job on the side, so maybe wherever you work is hiring? I don’t know, I’m not sure what kind of thing I’m looking for. So… do you like it? Where you work? And the… work you do?”

Beth rolled her eyes in exasperation. Where had these kids learned to lie this badly? Jesus. Summer only gave her an ‘I tried!’ shrug.

Jerry very rarely had the upper hand. He wasn’t especially clever and he wasn’t especially quick. Although he hadn’t been spanked much before, he knew what he saw. And as convincing as she was trying to be, Beth was fooling exactly no one. 

“Oh, nothing for me to worry about?” Jerry leaned forward in his chair, gesturing at Summer as he continued to stare down Beth, “Our daughter has-has some kind of _health_ thing, and I don’t need to know about it?” With his hands on the table, Jerry abruptly pushed back, “Honestly Beth, it’s the other way around, I’m--you know, Rick doesn’t seem to have an issue with what I’m doing for work, and since it’s nothing illegal, it’s _you_ who shouldn’t worry about it.”

He stood, rounded the table, and approached Summer. “Now, if our daughter has some kind of _issue_ preventing her from having a seat and relaxing and being comfortable, it seems to _me_ as her father, that’s exactly the sort of thing I should worry about!” He pulled out the chair beside Summer and catching a glimpse of her face, nearly faltered. She looked worried and scared, and more than a little peeved at him--but he had to put his foot down. There was far too much perversion and absurdity already in the house, and all of it came from _Rick._ He’d be damned if he let whatever was wrong with Rick start corrupting Beth, at least not without a fight. If Rick wanted to beat everyone silly, no one could stop him. But his wife beating his daughter? Jerry set his jaw. “Have a seat, Summer.”

“Dad, c’mon,” Summer attempted weakly. She was trying to put her usual bravado and nonchalance in her voice but she was failing miserably. She wasn't used to seeing her dad like this – belligerent and confident. Usually if he was upset with her or her mom it'd be expressed in pouting and sulking. Not all this posturing! And even knowing that her father had nothing to back up all this aggression with didn't make it any easier. 

Beth looked from Summer to Jerry, starting to feel increasingly nervous. Usually Jerry folded when she attacked him like this, but whatever kind of day he'd had at work had apparently bolstered his self-confidence. Shit. Of all days for her husband not to be a spineless worm! “You don't have to sit down if you don't want to, darling,” she said sweetly to Summer, with a warning glance at Jerry.

“I really don't want to, dad,” said Summer. “Don't make me. Please?” Accompanied by her best puppy dog eyes. Something her dad usually wasn't able to resist. She smiled meekly, hoping that'd satisfy his need to feel like the big man he evidently was not (and never had been).

Was this how Rick felt all the time? Jerry would have beamed if it wasn’t outrageously inappropriate to do so. Beth and Summer were both quivering in his presence. His!! Jerry shrugged, Summer’s poor little face made him feel like an ass, but she was just as guilty as Beth as far as he was concerned. He had seen what Rick and his victims got up to after a spanking--and he was scandalized at the mere concept of Beth and Summer being less than virginal with each other!

And of course, the true reason at the heart of this: if Beth spanked Summer, that meant she could spank Morty right? And since Jerry was under no delusions as to the family hierarchy, that meant even he could be a target. Being taken in hand by his father-in-law was _plenty_ , thank you, having another pugnacious disciplinary figure in the home would be simply unmanageable. Beth must be stopped, and convincingly too--otherwise she’d get it into her head that she could take Jerry over her knee too!

He backed away from the chair and and made a little careless wave, as if it really didn’t matter to him one way or the other whether Summer sat down, and it didn’t. “Suuure Summer, I’m not the boss or anything, Rick’s made THAT clear…” He kept his features in check, trying to look as paternally concerned as possible. “So I suppose you don’t have to do anything I say--because I can’t very well spank you, can I? That’s something _Rick_ does, isn’t it?” Jerry looked from mother to daughter and back again, “I guess, I’ll ask for clarification at the family meeting tonight! I just get so confused, you know?” He smacked his forehead playfully, “Your ole dad is just trying to make sure everyone understands each other, after all…”

This wasn’t the first time Beth had witnessed Jerry growing decidedly too big for his britches, and it made her gnash her teeth as it always did. For someone as passive and ineffectual as Jerry, he sure did talk a big game if he thought he had the upper hand on someone. Plus, it was so obvious that he was only strutting around like a peacock because Rick wasn’t there to whistle him back! But even though he was a grand-standing idiot, he had clearly surmised just what had happened between the two of them, and there was no doubt that Rick would be less than pleased if he found out Beth had been going around filling his shoes.

“Don’t make this into a production, Jerry,” Beth said through gritted teeth. “Fine. You want to know what happened? Summer acted out and I took her in hand. Something, I should add, that could’ve been done a long time ago by her primary caretaker – you know, _yourself?_ When I was working two jobs and putting myself through vet school? But no, you just had to be the cool dad and now we’ve got – ” She was about to add a less-than-flattering epithet to that little diatribe to describe Summer, but that seemed slightly mean after she’d already spanked her so hard. “Now we’ve got two kids who need… reminding,” she decided diplomatically.

Summer looked at her mom with betrayal evident in her eyes. Weren’t they keeping this a secret? Jesus, what if Rick found out? It was clear that she couldn’t count on her mother – if her dad wheedled enough she’d always snap at him, consequences be damned. Ugh! Leaving it to Summer herself to soothe her dad’s temper and ensure nothing too bad would come of this!

“I learned my lesson though, dad!” she said, turning to her father with an awkward grin on her face. “And – and I know you’ve been busy, so just… don’t listen to mom, alright? Just don’t talk to Rick about it, he’ll flip!”

“Your mom shouldn’t be--no, Summer don’t you see how--how--” How what, how wrong this all was? How weird this all was? It’s not like Jerry had really tried hard to put a stop to any of it, but he was now… in a fashion anyway. But was he really? In two seconds flat, Jerry went from toothy condescension to self-abasement. Here he was, claiming to help when he was just making things harder for the women in his life. Still, as ashamed as Jerry was of his own behavior, the aforementioned upper hand was NOT something he’d give up just because it was the Right Thing to Do.

“I--” he sighed, “Very well, I’ll keep this between us. I guess I don’t want to see more family meetings full of punishments anymore than anyone else. But!” He glared at Beth, “Don’t do stuff like--stuff like this! It’s not right, and after all the worrying you did over your father spanking Morty and Summer I can’t believe you’d go and do the same thing!” Jerry had a few more choice words about Beth being just like the worst parts of her father, but decided to pocket those for later. Never knew when it would be good to have something to fight dirty with…

He picked up his container and headed for the door, “I’m going to go watch some ESPN highlights… when’s dinner?” he asked cheerfully.

Beth, hollow-eyed, watched her not-all-that-much-better half head towards the living room. This encounter had been a battle of wills, or a power struggle, or whatever you wanted to call it, and although she hadn’t given anything away other than the truth she still felt she’d somehow lost. Like she had left Jerry with a distinctive disadvantage. And what was more (and worse!) than that – his parting shot, regarding her concern about her children’s punishments at the hands of her father and her subsequent hypocrisy… well, Jerry’s insults didn’t usually sting all that much, but even a broken clock was right twice a day.

“Dinner’s at six,” she said. It seemed like the only thing she could possibly say, and she glanced at Summer who was in turn studiously avoiding looking at her mom. 

Even after her dad at left, Summer refused to look at her mom. They were supposed to form a unified front and then her mom just went and blabbed about what had happened! As if her dad was someone you could trust to keep a secret! She had no doubt that Jerry too would open his stupid mouth sooner rather than later and then Rick would find out and god knew what would happen next. Jesus. Forget being more like the Sanchez side of the family – right now Summer wished she was adopted and would be taking after neither one of her parents.

“Summer – ” Beth attempted anyway, but her daughter immediately got up.

“See you at six.”

And Beth, left all alone in the kitchen, had no choice but to start on the fish tacos they’d be having for dinner.


	12. Checks Your Ass Can't Cash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerry has managed to stay out of Rick's sights, but he should have known that he wouldn't be able to slip between the cracks forever. He's been hiding something, and Rick's about to get to the literal bottom of it!

Humanity was objectively the worst lot of creatures on planet Earth, and in Rick’s unasked-for opinion, they were probably the worst organisms in creation itself. He briskly walked along the sidewalk judging passerby and grimacing at the various daytime activities of the moronic masses. Normally he wouldn’t be out and about, he’d rather portal to and fro, or at the very least, take his ship, but the other Rick he had just picked up from (a new specialized strain of star-dust laced marijuana) insisted on meeting at the park. Since the park was within spitting distance of the car dealership Jerry was working at, Rick had decided to drop in.

Jerry hadn’t described what his job was to anyone in the family, but he brought home a decent paycheck every week, he was out of the house on regular, scheduled hours, so Rick didn’t really care what he was getting up to. Of course, even the most genius intellect gets curious, and the idea of embarrassing Jerry at work--well of course Rick wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity. He figured Jerry wasn’t a salesperson... He lacked charisma and confidence, so perhaps he was a clerk… or a janitor… or…?

He’d find out soon enough. Up ahead, the bright red banners of Red Rob’s Ready Cars rippled in the warm breeze. Eager to find and subsequently humiliate his son-in-law, Rick quickened his step.

In front of Red Rob’s car dealership, Jerry was earning his keep. It wasn’t a job he would otherwise have chosen or even a job that had ever crossed his mind, but after that fateful evening spanking from Rick he had gratefully latched onto the first job he was actually offered. That said job came with a pair of too-tight shorts and a giant sign that read **DON’T DRIVE TOO FAR - GETCHER BRAND NEW CAR!!!!!!** (with, indeed, six exclamation marks to really drive home the urgency of the situation)... well, he’d just had to swallow that.

Twirling signs was exactly as difficult as Jerry had always thought it looked, which was to say: extremely. In a way he was quite glad for the little mishap in the garage that had restored his body to its glory days because every day at work was a grueling workout in itself. He could even tell that his arms had gotten more toned (and Rob himself praised him quite regularly for taking his job so seriously. If only he knew just what had Jerry so motivated).

Sweaty-faced but with a grin plastered on his face all the same, Jerry jumped from one leg to the other, spun around, threw the sign in the air, twirled it around, passed it behind him, between his legs – all the tricks he’d slowly picked up during his tenure as Red Rob’s resident sign twirler. He was so engrossed in this that he only noticed the familiar shock of blue hair approaching his place of work when it was almost, almost already too late.

His heart skipped a beat, and the sign clattered out of his hands. He immediately squatted down, snatched it up, and sprinted inside. “Can I take my break? I need to take my break! I’ll be in the breakroom!”

Unfortunately for Jerry, the dealership was quiet at this time of day (hence the need for a sign twirler), and Rob – a tall, broad-chested guy with the expected red hair as well as an impressive beard – turned towards him immediately. “Hell no you’re not! You just had a break! Unless you’ve got an acute appendicitis you’re going straight back out there!”

Jerry clutched the sign to his chest, nervously looking over his shoulder. “I’m – I’ve got a bad headache! I just need a moment!”

Red Rob sighed, reached behind the counter, and threw something at Jerry which landed at his feet. A plastic bottle of water (with, of course, the name of his business on it as well as yet another slogan: **TAKE A SIP AND BUY A BRAND NEW WHIP!!!!!!**). “You’re just dehydrated. Take this and get out there. I’m paying you to drum up business, kid.”

Jerry looked unhappily back at his boss. It was humiliating enough to be referred to as a ‘kid’ when he was a grown-ass man, but it was clear that Rob would not be mollified today. Defeated, the picked up the bottle, and with slumped shoulders moped back outside, praying to any and all gods in the multiverse that Rick would have left.

As Rick got closer, some sign twirling idiot raced back inside. But just as he reached the parking lot the kid came right back outside, and in a moment, Rick recognized that slouch, that stumbling stride, and truly, that ridiculous expression of bewilderment. Jerry, without making eye contact, and badly pretending like he didn’t see Rick began twirling the sign around, but with less energy than before. Rick had a big laugh bubbling up inside him, but decided to save it for a private moment later. This was far too delicious to not _savor._

Jerry’s uniform was entirely too tight--something Rick quite appreciated. The shade of red the dealership insisted on using was ostentatious, but the shorts and v-neck combo of a uniform was fetching on Jerry. With a carefully schooled expression, Rick waltzed right up to Jerry, and when the unfortunate teenager still shrank away as if he hadn’t seen Rick, the old man’s hand darted forward and delivered a loud smack to the seat of his red shorts as way of greeting.

“Well, well, -euurghp- well! Look, lookit what we have here? Hard at work, huh, Jerry?” And finally, Rick could hold it no longer, and snickered at the woeful and embarrassed look on his son-in-law’s face. “Y-you gotta introduce me to your boss, I need to compliment him on his choice of uniform.” This was not untrue either, while Rick would never come out and say Jerry looked good… Jerry looked good! Throwing signs around and dancing all day had done wonders for his physique, which was nicely toned, even a bit tan from sun exposure! The uniform in its excessive redness and tightness really accentuated the curve of his ass, and his trim, slim waist. Rick found himself suddenly thinking of ways to trick Jerry into doing something bad just so he could have the chance to toss that lithe little body he was hiding beneath his apple-red polyester wardrobe over his knee. Then again, Rick considered, he didn’t really need a reason to do that, did he…?

Of course Jerry’s ostrich strategy of pretending a problem wasn’t there to make it go away didn’t work, and the swat to his behind he was treated to as a reward for trying had him jumping a little. It wasn’t an especially vicious smack or anything, but Jerry had come to associate the feeling with being very, very uncomfortable.

He lowered the sign a little, opting to wave it from side to side while talking to Rick (too scared to put it down entirely for fear of angering Rob, and too scared to keep waving it too energetically for fear of offending Rick). “I guess you found me,” he said morosely, realizing this had been a long time coming and that in a way, he should be grateful it had taken this long for a family member to catch him in the act. But did it have to be Rick? If there was anyone he wanted to hide this stupid job and this ridiculously tiny uniform from it was absolutely his father-in-law. Just his luck.

He glanced over his shoulder, only to see Red Rob peering back at him through the window. He swallowed, and shook the sign with a bit more vigor. “Please don’t – don’t mess this up for me, okay? It was… y’know, you asked me to find a job, and I found this one, and-and I’ve been doing an alright job, so please don’t talk to my boss. You’ll – he’ll get all confused about who you are and he might fire me, and – and it was hard enough to find this job, and I don’t – I can’t go, can’t look… won’t find…!” Hyperventilating a little (the thought of Rick first costing him his job and then punishing him for being unemployed a bit too much for him to handle after spending all day tossing a sign around), and shot Rick another pleading look.

“Jerry, Jerry, Jerry, what kinda--what-what do you _mean_ ‘don’t mess this up for me,’ I’m--” Here, Rick leaned in a bit closer and grinned down at Jerry, “I just wanted to say hello to you, and is that--is that any way to treat someone?” Rick tutted, “Frankly, Jerry, I’m hurt, y-you think so poorly of your ole father-in-law!” 

Rick followed Jerry’s quick glances to the window where a rather robust man was watching with some interest--and judging by the bushy red beard, perhaps this was Red Rob in the flesh. “You know,” Rick’s brain spun deviously, “You seem oddly keen to keep me away from your boss--have you been doing a good job here? Huh? D-do I have to give my phone number to the big beefy ginger in there s-s-so’s he can keep me in the loop?” Jerry was already opening his mouth to object, so Rick saved him the trouble, plastered on the big fat fake grin he used whenever he had to deal with people other than the Smiths, and waved cheerfully at the man inside, who, at being acknowledged, began to make his way toward the door.

“I hope--f-for your sake Jerry, you have been doing a good job here,” Rick warned, awful toothy smile still stretched across his cheeks.

Jerry could do nothing but watch in horrified impotence how his father-in-law and chief tormentor actively sought his boss’s attention. He _had_ been going a good job here, dammit, but what if Red Rob decided to be all nonchalant about it? He’d go home to a hiding that he hadn’t even done anything to earn! At least he could try to placate his boss a little, and he continued his sign-twirling with renewed efforts, even doing a couple of double spins.

Red Rob made his way down the parking lot, dressed in a suit that looked like a poor person’s idea of a nice suit, and stuck out a big, freckled hand. “Nice to meet ya,” he said in his most jovial of baritones. “Welcome to Red Rob’s Ready Cars! You can search far and wide, there ain’t no better ride.” He shook Rick’s hand vigorously, and then looked over at Jerry, who was pretending like he was about to die of a disease for which the only cure was extremely energetic sign-twirling and who only glanced over at him to shoot him what looked like an apologetic smile.

“This an acquaintance of yours, Jerry?” he boomed. “Why don’t you introduce me? Be polite, now. You’re the face of this business.”

Jerry turned a shade of red that clashed horribly with his ensemble, and stammered: “Well, uh… this is – this, uh… this would be...” Who the fuck was Rick? How was he supposed to introduce him? _This is my genius father-in-law who turned me and my wife into teenagers and now he is our guardian/disciplinarian?_ “Uhh…” he trailed off dumbly, desperately looking to Rick for some assistance.

Oh it was so hard not to laugh. Rick hadn’t been this amused in some time, and he was thoroughly enjoying every goddamn minute. He gripped Red Rob’s hand warmly and nodded politely--even an inter-dimensional galactic savage could have manners when they were needed!

“Rick Sanchez, nice--nice to meet you.” Rick chuckled at Jerry’s discomfort, “W-wanted to thank you for giving my rascal of a grandson here a job, I certainly hope he’s been behaving himself.” Ending the handshake, Rick laid a heavy hand on Jerry’s shoulder and squeezed much harder than necessary. “He’s quite the handful at home, so m-make sure you’re stern with him.”

Red Rob, Rick noticed, was pretty easy on the eyes. Big strapping chest, beautiful beard, hands that looked like they could really...make an _impression._ Rick suddenly wondered if Jerry had been so tight-lipped about his job because of this fine specimen? All the more delightful! “I must say, y-you’ve certainly picked out a cute uniform for your sign twirlers. R-really brings out Jerry’s eyes, huh Jer-bear?”

“Oh, this is your granddad! You should’ve said, Jerry,” Red Rob jokingly wagged a finger at his flustered employee. “Well, I’ve got to tell you, Mr Sanchez – this a strapping lad you’ve got here!” He slapped Jerry on his back, and Jerry fell forward, catching himself only just in time and looking back to offer his boss another dopey grin.

“Yeah, this is… my grandpa,” he managed, nonplussed at the herculean effort he was making to refer to Rick as such. His grandpa! Jesus. Was this going to be Rick’s public persona from now on? His _granddad?_ Jesus, how did the kids even deal with that? Putting on airs like he was some benevolent grandfatherly figure…

“I’m surprised to hear he’s giving you trouble at home!” Red Rob steamrolled on, oblivious to the slightly awkward atmosphere. “Not to make the boy too big-headed but he’s been a model employee.” The same big hand that had slapped Jerry now firmly gripped his shoulder, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “Shows up early, takes extra shifts, doesn’t complain! Of course when I first got my hands on him he couldn’t toss a sign around worth a damn, but a couple of weeks of practice and he was twirling with the best of ‘em. Even gives that nutjob at the Quiznos down the street a run for his money.” He jerked a thumb towards the end of the street, where there was indeed another sign twirler who seemed to take his job deadly serious.

Another squeeze, and Jerry was sure he was about to die of sheer embarrassment. “And hey, thanks for the compliment,” Red Rob continued. “Gotta say, a lot of people come by here, they think the red’s too aggressive! But I just say – hey, the right shade of red never hurt no one!” This was followed by an extremely pained look from Jerry. If only Rob knew just how painful the ‘right shade of red’ could be.

“How right you are--red looks good on everybody.” Rick was having a hard time not laughing at this entire silly conversation, all the more so due to the exquisite humiliation that washed over Jerry’s face. “Thanks again for taking care of my grandson, I’ll let you both get back to work. But it’s nice to hear he’s doing well, you’ll have to tell everyone at family meeting how good a job you’re doing, Jerry!” And then, bending at the waist and invading Jerry’s personal space, Rick patted his cheek. “C’mon Jer, say goodbye, g-granddad’s gotta get going.”

Jerry was properly mortified now. Did Rick really expect him to not only play along with this whole horrible charade but to be physically affectionate, too? Still, with the threat of a family meeting looming over him, he was not about to antagonize Rick by refusing him what was really quite a small concession (even if it felt like the symbolism of the act was of an enormous magnitude – like Rick had offered him his ring to kiss rather than his cheek). He leaned in all the same, his eyes cast down, and quickly pecked Rick on the cheek. “Bye,” he managed, “uh… grandpa.”

Red Rob witnessed this with approval. “Nice to see a young man like yourself respect his elders, Jerry,” he said. “Thanks for stopping by, Mr Sanchez – if you need a car, just let me know! I’ll get you a good deal – family and friends discount!” He waved enthusiastically as Rick (still smirking) left for whatever his next errand could be (embarrassing yet another family member, perhaps?) while Jerry too threw in a half-hearted little wave. Once Rick had rounded the corner, Rob turned towards Jerry, and with blessed innocence said: “Your granddad seems like a real stand-up guy, Jerry. I see where you got it from!”

Leaving Jerry to clench his jaw at the irony of it all, Red Rob returned to his domain inside the dealership. With a final, long-suffering sigh, Jerry went back to throwing the sign around, even if his heart wasn’t in it as much as it usually was. Why had Rick brought up that family meeting? All things considered, this encounter had gone as well as it possibly could have… so surely he wasn’t in trouble? Rob said some really nice things about him! Then again, leave it to Rick to nitpick away until he found some spankable offense.

When his shift finally ended and he’d shoved his uniform way, way down inside his backpack (to what end? Rick would be telling the others of his secret shameful profession anyway), he trudged back home with heavy legs – and this time, not just because of the day’s exercise.

It was two hours after dinner, the kitchen was clean, the evening news had been watched, and the Smiths were assembled in their pajamas (Beth, in the buff) waiting quietly for Rick to emerge from the garage. When the man of the hour appeared and strode into the living room, he had a bounce in his step and a smirk on his face. Really, today had actually been excellent. The weed was fucking amazing, embarrassing Jerry had been utterly hysterical, and even Morty had been more helpful than usual. Now seeing his family obediently waiting on him, his lovely daughter red faced and nude, holding a pillow in front of her, the boys in their plaid pajamas, and Summer in her shorts and nightie... Well, it was perhaps a bit odd for a Rick to be so enthused over such domesticity, but it had a subtle eroticism all its own. 

"E-everyone have a good day?" He plopped down in the unoccupied arm chair and folded his hands in his lap. "L-lets start with you, Morty, and then we'll end with Jerry." he kept his tone deceptively neutral but when he spotted Jerry staring at him from the corner of his eye he quirked his eyebrow and had to bite back another chuckle. Sign twirling, honestly!

Although the family meetings had lately been more about updating each other about their various goings-on and less about someone getting their (un)deserved comeuppance, there was still a nervous thrill in the air as the four Smiths watched the family patriarch enter. It was no surprise that every one of them was racking their brain for any misstep they may have made, but still it was Jerry who was more sure than the others that he was in for it. In for _something_ , at least, and probably nothing great.

“Alright,” Morty said. He was always a bit more at ease during these meetings than his family members, and to be fair, he didn’t have as much reason to dread them – having quite a bit of experience with Rick’s rules and expectations, he generally sought to obey said rules and meet said expectations and consequently didn’t get in trouble unless he was trying to. “Well, y-y-you said that… you didn’t need me today, so I went to school. Um, I – I had some trouble during Spanish ‘cause they were doing a thing with, with the… the preterite tense? And I missed the introductory lessons on that so it was a little rough… but it worked out alright, and, um, Ms Trujillo gave me some extra exercises to catch up if I’ve got time, so… I-I guess we’ll, uh. We’ll see.” He shrugged, knowing that his academic accomplishments were less in the spotlight than his sister’s. His job in the family was to support Rick, after all.

Summer was up next, and her day too had been mostly uneventful – although she did keep casting furtive glances at her father, who seemed edgy. Summer’s butt was still sore from the spanking she’d received just the day before but she knew a lot better than to let that on, and so she simply lounged in the armchair as if her ass wasn’t still pink and bruised. “School was fine,” she said, leaning her cheek on her hand. “Nothing much happened. Charlotte’s crack was showing during lunch and someone dumped the contents of their entire milk carton in it, it was gross.”

Rick nodded, even chuckled slightly at Summer's cafeteria story. "D-don't worry about Spanish Morty, if you have a hankering to really learn it, I'm fluent and can teach you, but - euurrp- y-you'd be better off learning Glorblaxian, it's the business language of the galaxy after all--" 

His gaze landed on Beth, who was simultaneously trying to hide her nakedness and pretend like her nudity didn't bother her. The shame over being unclothed was something Rick found stupid but also a bit cute. As if they hadn't each seen each other in full glory by now. "And Beth? How was your day, sweetie?"

Beth shifted uncomfortably. She’d felt like she was finally in charge of her own life and destiny again when she’d taken Summer in hand the previous day, but all that spirit had flowed out of her the moment she’d trod down the stairs in her birthday suit to attend the family meeting, all alone in her state of undress. There was something singularly embarrassing about being the only naked person in a room full of clothed people, and although the pillow she was hugging to her chest hid the more salient details of her physique, she still felt like everyone was looking at her differently than they were at each other. Rick was of course the worst culprit here.

“It was fine,” she said, figuring she might as well get this meeting over with ASAP so she could just go to bed and get dressed the next morning like a normal person. “Just some broken limbs. And a pulmonary embolism, that was a little exciting. They all made it though,” she added quickly, trying to hide the pride in her voice (and not really succeeding). “I’ve got a night shift tomorrow, so I hope it’s alright if I… if we can do the meeting before I leave for work. Maybe?”

"D-Don't worry honey sweetie, we'll do that before you need to leave for your shift." He nodded at her, his eyes darting around her exposed skin, and paused to lick his teeth behind his lips. A shame that she hadn't misbehaved lately, he was _almost_ beginning to miss spanking her. Ah well, the opportunity would present itself soon enough--of this he was certain. 

And now to Jerry. Rick half turned so that he was facing his son-in-law and folded his hands in his lap. "And now Jerry, what do you have to share tonight? B-be sure to not leave out any details!" 

Truth be told, although Rick intensely disliked Jerry, his transformation into a teenager was a wondrous improvement! Of course, mostly due to Rick's ability to spank him senseless whenever he wanted, but Jerry was also more agreeable, less vexing, and generally easier to deal with. Embarrassing him at the dealership had been so delightfully hilarious Rick was tempted to do it again, if only to force Jerry to show physical affection to his ‘grandad’. And although it was not something Rick would readily admit, he really was rather chuffed that Jerry was working hard and making his boss happy. His daughter's husband would always be a sniveling, pitiable dumbass, but at least now he was a diligent and responsible one; and as nasty as Rick was, he could appreciate improvement when he saw it. Whether Jerry knew it or not, Rick was giving him the chance to brag. Of course, it might be humiliating to admit that he was a sign twirler probably, but that wasn't Rick's problem.

Jerry pulled at the fabric of his pajama shirt, his eyes darting around the room as if the others could read his mind and his humiliation was already complete. It wasn’t enough for Rick to reveal his secret to the family, was it? He was going to make Jerry do it himself! And of course right after he got all uppity with Beth and Summer just the day before about nobody needing to know just what he did for a living. A small, nasty part of him contemplated shifting the attention to the women in his family – he could just tell Rick what he’d found out yesterday. But that would only cause problems for them and Rick wouldn’t let him off of the hook that easily anyway…

“I went to work,” he said, and he thought back wistfully to all the nights where his only contribution to the family meeting had been just that. He should have appreciated those times more. “And, uh… Rick came to visit me.” He paused to shoot Rick a pleading look which was met with the usual cold indifference. There was really no helping it, was there? “And Rick talked to my boss, and-and he said I’d been doing a good job. Which I, um… which is true.”

The _a good job as what?_ was palpable, and not just from Rick’s direction. Even Morty looked at his dad a little curiously. When had Jerry ever done a good job at – well, at anything, really?

“And I, I, uh – I haven’t told you about my job because I thought you’d… it’s a little silly, but...” He was about to finish that with _but Rick already knows anyway so whatever_ but thought against it. Might as well own this all the way. He swallowed, steeled himself, looked up with a determined little frown on his youthful face, and said: “I’m a sign twirler. For Red Rob’s Ready Cars. And I’m good at it!”

There was a brief silence as the assembled Smiths stared at their dethroned patriarch with disbelief, which was soon broken by laughter. Beth’s was mostly at her husband’s shit job (god, hadn’t she just known it?), Summer’s was at the fact that her dad managed to sound so damn proud for absolutely no reason (sign twirling, really?), and for Morty it was really just laughter of relief. He’d thought that his dad had been doing something way worse. Sign twirling wasn’t too bad – it wasn’t a stellar career option or whatever, but it was just a normal job!

Jerry, who’d been puffing out his chest and trying to sound decisive and confident, immediately deflated and shrank back against the couch cushions, folding his arms protectively and glancing away. He hadn’t been expecting _laughter_. A bit of derision and mockery, yes – but outright mocking laughter? “C’mon, guys,” he complained feebly.

Rick snickered, but then waved off the rest of the family, “J-Jerry is being too modest, his boss said he was the best sign twirler he’d had; I recommend going t-to see him do his _thang,_ he’s more coordinated than I would’ve expected.” Winking at Jerry, Rick then cast a glare at the rest of the assembled family. “Laugh it up, karma is a cruel mistress.”

But turning again to Jerry, Rick grinned in as friendly a way as he could manage. When he treated Morty to a good boy spanking in full view of the family, he hoped it’d be inspirational, and perhaps it had been! Jerry had certainly earned, if not a full blown work-over, at least a good bit of positive attention. Beckoning at Jerry, and then patting his lap, Rick called to Jerry. “W-well, I know you all think I’m a hard-ass, but n-never let it be said I do not recognize good behavior when I see it. C’mere, Jerry.”

This was unexpected. While Jerry had certainly taken the possibility of ending up over Rick’s knee into account, he'd been sure it would have been in an altogether more punitive context. Sure, Rick sometimes gifted his wife and kids with little morsels of tenderness (and… other things) but he had always made it perfectly clear that the category of people who deserved that kind of attention did not include Jerry.

Squirming a little in his seat, he looked to the others for guidance, but they seemed to be as surprised as he was, if not more. First Rick complimented Jerry ( _en plein public!_ ) and now this? Beth narrowed her eyes at her husband. (Had he perhaps tattled? Was that at the heart of this sudden change in Rick’s treatment of Jerry?)

Still not convinced this wasn't a ruse or a ploy (but well-aware he'd be powerless to stop Rick even if it was), Jerry got up and stood in front of his father in law, his head bowed. “Um, what should I…?”

Rick sighed, and tilted his head back at the ceiling, before reminding himself he was supposed to be rewarding Jerry. Looking up at the young man shifting back and forth on his feet, appearing as if a strong puff of air would be enough to knock him over, Rick burped indignantly. 

“Jerry, I don’t understand wh-wh-what you’re anxious about, have I really been that unfair?” A completely rhetorical question, because Rick knew, Jerry knew, the entire room knew that Rick was thoroughly, aggressively unfair. Rick leaned forward to grasp Jerry’s wrist, and as he did, he happened to look up at the couch where everyone was sitting, and observed his daughter staring daggers into Jerry’s back. Jealousy? He squinted--no, more malicious...suspicion? As soon as he deduced this, Rick became suspicious as well, and instead of tossing Jerry over his lap, he instead yanked Jerry forward, and settled him right-side up, to sit on his thigh. As good as Rick’s mood was when his family was being obedient, it was just a touch better when he had reason to thrash someone’s behind. And Rick could practically smell the secrets being kept from him. The evening just became more interesting.

He arranged Jerry on his lap until he at least looked comfortable, and then Rick rested his elbow on the armchair, and his chin in his hand as he watched Jerry with a severe expression. “Everyone seems on edge tonight, huh Jerry?” Without waiting for a reply, Rick leaned in closer, “B-between you and me, it almost seems like s-s- _something_ happened that I should be aware of. But I’m sure you’re all far too smart to try and keep things from, from your dear old grandpa.” His left arm wrapped around Jerry and snuggled him close--and although Rick was holding him warmly, every other aspect of his demeanor was distinctly like that of a crocodile. “Before we start your reward Jerry, any...confessions? You can tell Rick, th-there’s nooothing to worry about.”

Oof. If Rick was trying to weasel information out of Jerry, he’d certainly chosen one of the most effective ways to do so. Sure, Jerry was scared of being hurt and worried about people disliking him, but after the past few months (where Beth had all but shunned him every time they slept in the same bed in favor of fooling around with Rick) just the tiniest bit of physical affection had him reeling. It was still Rick offering him this one-armed embrace, of course, so he sat there a little stiffly, but he felt a lot better than he had all day.

Until the cross-examination started. He had the good sense not to immediately stare at Beth with wide-eyed panic because that would basically be the same as throwing her to the wolves (or wolf, singular), but it was all he could do to stare back at Rick who looked all the more threatening with one arm slung around him so tenderly. It was difficult enough to keep his poker face up when the word _reward_ just kept swirling through his mind. Like what Morty had gotten? He didn’t want that. Right? Did he? Would it be different for him? Morty seemed to have enjoyed his little positive reinforcement session with Rick anyway…

Morty. That was a safe person to look at. He turned to look at his son, who had perked up a little and was surveying his family members with concern. No doubt, if he told on Beth and Summer now, his entire reward might be postponed (or cancelled altogether) and the night could take a decidedly unfortunate turn for Beth and Summer instead. Plus, if he told Rick and Beth got in trouble… geez, she’d never talk to him again! Even with all that had happened between them that was still a horrible reality to have to face. Jerry swallowed hard and turned back to Rick.

“Um,” he said, and it was really the feeling of being held which he hadn’t experienced in _so long_ that clinched it. Regardless of what he did here, Beth wasn’t going to be the one to treat him sweetly anyway, was she? Better a bird in the hand than two in the bush. “I’m… it’s, it’s not my confession to make. But I’ll… I can say it if that, that person doesn’t step up.” There. A very diplomatic solution.

Beth was about ready to jump up and throttle her no-spine, shit-for-brains, disloyal garbage husband. He’d promised yesterday, only _yesterday_ , to keep his trap shut – and now he got half a hug and a pat on the head and all of a sudden he was cheerleading for Team Sanchez! Plus he didn’t even have the balls to tell on her. This absolute trashcan of a person. “Fine.” She hugged the pillow a little tighter. “Summer acted up yesterday and you weren’t there, Dad! So – I didn’t want to bother you with it, and I figured I didn’t have to, so… I took care of it.” She quickly added: “You never said I couldn’t!”

Listening passively, when Beth finally exhaled and shut up, Rick turned to Jerry in his lap and scoffed. “R-regular teacher’s pet over there, huh?” When Jerry didn’t immediately laugh, Rick bounced him on his knee, and wrapped his other arm around him too, “EARTH TO JERRY-- l-loosen up, Jesus.” Relaxing his hold on his son-in-law, the elder sighed dramatically, “Well, you’ve earned a reward Jerry, b-but I’m sorry to inform you, w-we will have to reschedule, as there has been some inappropriate behavior going on around here…” He helped Jerry up off his lap, and shooed him away. “Go on and sit down next to Morty, b-but I haven’t forgotten.”

To Beth, Rick granted a disappointed glare, and stared down his nose at the too-big-for-her-britches blonde. “True, I never said you _couldn’t._ D-do I have to tell you everything y-you’re not supposed to do now?” He folded his hands and enunciated his words slowly, like he was talking to an errant toddler. “Beth, do NOT set the house on fire. Do NOT leave the water running in the sink--that clear enough for you? D-do you need me to watch you every moment of the day telling you exactly what to do and not to do?” He shook his head. “Ridiculous. Summer, stand up, come over here and drop your shorts.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen! Summer had watched the exchange between her pitiful father and Rick with very little interest, all the way up to the point where Jerry decided to run his big, stupid mouth. The rest of it was almost like a fever dream – open-mouthed, she witnessed her mom not only take ownership of her mistake but actually take an attitude with Rick as well. Was she insane? And to top it all off – it wasn’t even Beth that was summoned to that dreadful lap!

Her ass was still sore enough that the thought of another spanking would have had her tearing up prematurely if she hadn’t been making a very conscious effort to tough this out. She’d made a minor misstep and she’d already gotten punished. If grandpa Rick wanted to give her something more to cry about he was an even bigger asshole than she already thought.

Silently she stood up, walked toward her grandfather with stiff legs, and loosened her shorts, pushing them down with all the strength in her. Fucking mom. Fucking dad. Fucking _Rick._ The moment she’d turn eighteen would be the moment she left this place forever – if she didn’t emancipate herself before then.

“I didn’t do my chores,” she said, bluntly. “And mom spanked me really hard with the bath brush. That’s all.”

A better man might have been perturbed at how fearful everyone was acting around him, but Rick rather liked it. He was, after all, no Prince, but a scientist. Summer barely got through her statement before Rick simply grabbed her and put her over his lap without a word, but instead of his hand crashing down on the seat of her panties, Rick gently lifted up one leg hole to expose her butt cheek. With the careful precision of a surgeon, his long fingers ghosted across her skin, pressing the flesh experimentally, taking note of bruises, and lifting her chubby fat up enough to see the space between her ass and thighs. 

“With a bath brush huh?” Rick’s gaze scanned Summer’s beautiful ass, and he had to admit, it was tempting to spank it just because it was right _there_ but like a spider, Rick Sanchez was patient enough to wait for better prey. “Seems l-like you got it pretty good.” Beth must’ve been a little angry-- Rick could tell just by the uneven placement of some of the bruises. It certainly didn’t appear as if Summer had been abused or treated that cruelly, but with something like a bath brush, a little more care was warranted. Rick lifted up the other side, and tugged her panties into a wedgie just a little too hard; Summer was too cute not to make her squeal just a little bit. He looked at her other cheek, and when he was satisfied, smoothed his hard hand over her bottom, rubbing softly, hoping to encourage her to feel more at ease. “Would you say the punishment fits the crime, Summer? That bath brush probably stung, didn’t it honey?”

Entirely prepared for yet another undeserved spanking, Summer lay tense over her grandfather’s lap – even when that initial swat didn’t happen. It was only when he was touching her bruised skin so – well, so _gently_ that she permitted herself to think that maybe she wasn’t in for it after all. Still, she kept her guard up. Rick could not be trusted. Apparently, not a single damn person in this family could be.

The wedgie was only further proof that Rick might not at that particular moment be driving her to tears, but that he had the ability (and generally the motive) to do so. She dutifully kept the position, her legs trembling a bit – something that Rick’s unexpected caresses did nothing to ease. If anything, Summer fidgeted more, having come to associate those fingers on that part of her with… well, with… something she probably wasn’t about to receive. (Apparently her _dad_ was. The world turned upside down!)

“It did sting,” she agreed, “and, like – I was gonna clean the bathroom anyway, just later, so… so if it was just a punishment for being late or whatever I think I got enough!” That wasn’t just her trying to save her own tender flesh – she really did feel like her mother had been a fair bit harder on her than Rick might have been.

At least, Summer thought with a not particularly pleasant kind of schadenfreude, Rick going easier on her probably meant it would be her mother to bear the consequences of yesterday’s chastisement. She didn’t usually wish Rick on people but this time it was wholly deserved, if you asked her. Besides, it’d be one less worry if she didn’t have to stress about her mom tanning her hide as well as her grandfather whenever either one of them felt like it!

“Now, now.” And Rick accompanied these two words with two swats which, while not hard, were enough to remind Summer of exactly where she was. “You’re not s-supposed to do your chores later, you’re supposed to _do them._ But I agree, you got enough… for now anyway.” With that stark warning, he lifted her up off his lap, but before he released her, he turned her and made her stand between his legs, her ass facing out. Peering around her waist, Rick snapped his fingers at Beth and pointed at a bruise that was just a wee bit high up. “See this? No good.” Rick abruptly grabbed two handfuls of the meatiest part of Summer’s bottom and squeezed. _“Here_ is where bruises should be.” 

Finally straightening her panties out, Rick pulled up Summer’s shorts for her and then with a final pat, directed her toward the couch. As soon as he had space to, he jumped to his feet and made straight for Beth. The rest of the family shrunk away as he approached, except Morty, who knew _he_ wasn’t about to get it, and thus was relatively relaxed (or as relaxed as one could be around Rick). Rick took the pillow, tossed it away, and snatched Beth’s arm in his strong hands, lifting her up out of her seat to stand unsteadily before him. Without explanation, he backed up a few steps into the center of the living room, dragging her with him.

While Summer didn’t make Rick instruct her twice to sit down (and the moment she sank down on the couch she quietly decided that the next person who wanted her to lay over their lap would have to drag her over their thighs), Beth could only watch with powerless terror how her father approached her. He’d pulled her to her feet before she knew it, and only once he’d taken her to center stage did she find her voice once more.

“Dad, please,” she said, trying to sound reasonable – only succeeding in sounding shrill. “I’m – you were right, okay? You don’t have to tell me everything I can’t do but I really thought I was helping you out and doing you a favor! She’s – she’s my daughter, alright?” But this wasn’t reasoning, and she knew it: this was bargaining and a bargain with Rick Sanchez was usually a mistake (if a deal could be struck at all, which in the comfort of the Smith household was usually impossible).

She stood trembling before him, helpless in his firm grasp, and felt color rise to her cheeks as she realized just how vulnerable and visible her naked body was. No doubt the others would be looking at her, but she was not about to look over her shoulder to check – instead, she kept her eyes trained firmly on Rick, trying to steel her gaze and look like a mother who had every right to discipline her child, nudity be damned. She was only marginally successful.

The thing about stern gazes and furrowed brows is they only really work if at least one person is convinced of the power behind it. Beth quite clearly did not fully believe she was in charge, Rick, to his core, was absolutely assured he was in charge, and so the meaningful look she tried her best to direct at him was less tough and more sulky. Not that she had long to glower up at him anyway, as he briskly turned her around so she was facing her family. Gathering her arms together, he folded them behind her back and held them securely in one hand. Stepping back and angling himself so his arm had room to swing, he pulled back and walloped her on the ass. 

“I have a-have a hunch y-you’re a hands on learner, Beth, so here we go:” Another hard smack, to the opposite side. “Scaling a punishment to fit the misdeed is-is less about the severity of the implement--” he swatted again, “And more about the _delivery.”_ As if to illustrate just how well Rick could deliver a swat, he paused in his lecture to swat, and swat again, and again, quickly turning Beth’s jiggling bottom into a pretty shade of pink, as his handprints landed wildly all over her bottom and the backs of her thighs. 

“Which is not to say a bathbrush was the wrong choice--Summer likely deserved it.” He raised his unibrow at the redhead, but declined to scold her further. “But if-if you’re gonna use something like that, use. It. Properly.” He punctuated each word with another hard smack, and then paused again to reorient Beth to stand where he wanted as she danced around like a child. Which was the point--an immature punishment for immature behavior. If Beth wanted to go off half-cocked and risk damaging her daughter, Rick was more than happy to help her remember her place.

Once Rick had grabbed her hands, that first swat really wasn’t a surprise, and Beth was determined to take it with the grace and poise of an adult woman who got to do adult woman things in her own damn home. All those plans fell by the wayside once Rick started properly laying into her, and although she tried to play tough in front of the (judgmental?) eyes of her children and her no-good husband, she couldn’t help tearing up once Rick’s pace really sped up. He seemed to be smacking her everywhere at once, and before long she was hopping from one foot to the other, doing her little spanking dance – and, of course, no longer able to keep from crying out.

“Dad – Dad…!! Ah – oooowww, Dad, Daddy – please…!” She remembered being spanked like this – way back when she was still an actual little girl, and her lip trembled when she realized that Rick was proving his point by disciplining her in this childish way. “Dad, noooo – no, I-I get it, I understand, I’m sorry, I’m-I’m – please, _please!”_ The pleas and promises poured from her lips without her being able to stem the tide at all, so swiftly had Rick reduced her to the teenage girl she’d once been (and, once more, looked like). Even with just his hand, her ass already burned with the ferocity of his swats. Of course he didn’t need an implement to make a point… his hand taught a lesson just fine.

“I won’t do it again, Dad – Dad, I’ll never, I won’t!!” Her eyes landed on Summer, who had folded her arms and was looking back at her with barely disguised disdain. Shit! And right after she’d asserted her dominance! And all this just because – 

Jerry was pointedly averting his eyes and was holding on to his knees as if he might tumble off of the sofa if he didn’t. There was no way Beth wouldn’t be holding a grudge over this, and as usual that grudge wouldn’t be directed at the guy actually spanking her but at _him_ , Jerry Smith, whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time (and, perhaps, prying a little).

He was right to avoid Beth’s eyes too, because even with tears sliding down her reddened cheeks, there was still a fiery fury in the way she looked at her effete husband. Or at least there was for a moment – right until Rick landed a smack on such a dreadful place that she yowled and jumped.

“Woah, woah, woah, I never said, -urrp- that I don’t want you ever to do it again.” Rick chuckled and ruffled Beth’s hair as if they were having a stern, but generally pleasant conversation about her behavior, and he wasn’t smacking her ass into a red ball of pain. “Y-you just have to do it correctly. Are you not paying attention t-to what I’m saying?” He swatted her again, and watched with a sparkle of humor in his eyes as she blubbered and fidgeted and danced around, all while held firmly in place. “Please try to pay attention sweetie, or I’m gonna start getting mad.”

He smacked again, lower, and watched a handprint puff up on previously untouched skin. “This is how I would have punished Summer--” he stopped talking again to give Beth’s ass a workover as he stared at Summer on the couch. “W-woulda dragged her bratty little behind into the bathroom and spanked her like this in front of the mirror, so she could see the mess, and see the consequences of that mess at the same time. I’m suuuuure your method will have somewhat of a lasting impression, but mine would be a disciplinary memory that would adjust behavior going forward.”

He stopped, released her arms, but then his palm pressed against her back and he bent her over at the waist. “Hold your knees.”

Even though Rick needed her to pay attention, that was rapidly becoming impossible for Beth. The very thought of being spanked some more in front of a mirror terrified her – it was bad enough to see her agony reflected in the faces of her own children. A disciplinary memory! She certainly wouldn't be forgetting this experience!

“Daddy, please,” she sobbed, but belying her verbal protests she let him bend her in half, and she obediently wrapped her arms around her knees to hold on tightly. Her ass already throbbed fiercely with every beat of her heart and she was sure she was off much, much worse than Summer had been, but that wasn't even the worst thing. Would her dad go and grab the bath brush? Oh god – the wails of her own daughter from the day before reverberated in her head and she felt like karma really had her by the balls. Or by the ass, maybe. “Not-not the brush, please, Daddy…!” she begged, upside-down and squeezing her eyes shut. Already her nose was running and that made her current position all the more uncomfortable. Not as much as her cherry red ass, certainly. But it wasn't helping matters. At least she wasn't forced to look at the others anymore. 

The others were watching the proceedings uncomfortably. Summer was starting to feel just a teensy bit for her mom. At least Beth had been nice to her afterwards – Rick wasn't going to do anything of the sort. Morty, as always, didn't like seeing his mom unjustly punished. And Jerry – well, Jerry was starting to think he might not enjoy his reward after all. 

Rick snapped his fingers as if remembering something suddenly, “You’re absolutely right Beth, I a-almost forgot about the brush. Summer, go get the specific bathbrush your mom used, would you?” 

She seemed to hesitate, but when Rick stared at her a moment longer she bolted from her chair to run upstairs. Rick meanwhile seemed to be quite enjoying Beth doing her best to hold the uncomfortable position and rested his hand on her back, leaning against her as he waited for Summer to return. He glanced at Jerry and continued in a conversational tone, “So, looking forward t-to your time with ‘granddad,’ huh?” But before he could tease more, Summer returned, and handed over the bath brush. He took the implement and swooshed it through the air experimentally a few times and whistled, “Y-yeah I can tell this packs a punch. L-let’s try it out shall we?” He placed his hand on her back to steady her, and he tapped the brush against Beth’s ass. “Long handed implement, you don’t need to swing as much as you need to snap your wrist.” He demonstrated by way of sharply cracking the brush against Beth’s bottom. As she howled, he waited for her to quiet down before rubbing in the angry red splotch. “There we go, nice firm smack. Y-you notice the placement, right Beth?” He pinched the area which would likely become a bruise. “Riiiight here. Let’s practice one more time, yeah?” 

Again the brush smacked down, on the opposite side, and again, Rick paused to rub it in slightly, but never long enough. “Mmm.” When she had returned to crying instead of yowling, Rick balanced the bath brush on her back and patted her bottom. “Keep that on your back. If you let it fall, y-you’ll regret it.” Rick returned to his armchair and sat down. “I think having some disciplinary help around here would b-be a good idea. So starting, say, this Thursday, Beth, you will meet with me for spanking lessons so you at least can do a proper job. You will not be allowed to use an implement until I’ve used it on you. Understood?”

Throughout her ordeal, Beth only wanted to collapse into a heap on the floor, wanted to squat down and shield her poor defenseless bottom from the unrelenting bath brush (which Rick of course wielded expertly). The spots he insisted on hitting, she was well aware, would make it extremely difficult to sit from now on – no doubt Summer would be watching her every time she stood to have breakfast or lunch. Maybe it was only fair…? No. This was undeserved. Another searing smack only cemented that thought in her mind, and she screamed before weeping softly, feeling both sorry for herself and a little resentful – but she knew better than to let that show.

She kept the position, all the more desperate to do so after Rick’s final warning, holding her breath every time the brush wobbled a little. And then that final decision of Rick’s! If she hadn’t already been crying she certainly would have started right there and then. Weekly spankings with different implements, even if she didn’t do anything wrong? All for the privilege to wear her arm out on her kids and– 

Here her breathing calmed down. What was the worst implement she could tolerate? Maybe a paddle. Yes, she’d be requesting that during their first session. It would be horrible, but not half as horrible as things were about to get for Jerry. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe… this was a gift of sorts.

“I understand, Dad,” she said meekly, and the change in her attitude was subtle, but Jerry had been married to her for long enough to feel, even if only subconsciously, ever so slightly… like he’d made a mistake.

The change in attitude was not unnoticed by Rick, who had a feeling he knew what was going through Beth’s head, and had to stifle a laugh to maintain the serious, instructional atmosphere. “Then that’s settled. B-but bear in mind, sweetie, this is a responsibility not a free-for-all. It is inappropriate to use this authority just because you can.” This was directly contradictory to Rick’s own behavior, but no one dared challenge him. After all, it was Rick’s right to do as he pleased; mostly because not a soul in the universe could stop him. And anyway, Beth really was inexperienced, and had to be firmly guided less she get too excited and break Jerry’s ass, which was a privilege afforded to Rick alone.

“Alright, off to bed. ‘Cept you, Jerry. You go to the garage.” With that send-off, Rick stood up, and picking the bath brush off of Beth’s back, helped her straighten and then pushed her toward the stairs with the brush in her hands. 

He then walked into the kitchen and disappeared without another word.

Beth was still nodding obediently as she trotted up the stairs, teary-eyed and red-assed and with a heart full of vengeance fantasies. Inappropriate indeed! If Rick could wield his power indiscriminately, so could she – and she’d make sure Jerry would think twice before telling on her again. It was not much of a comfort, but at least when she slid between the sheets (hissing at the feeling of fabric against her bruised behind) the pain was lessened a little at the thought of just how sorry she’d be making her husband before long.

Said husband was left all alone in the living room. Both Summer and Morty treated him to furtive glances before they too disappeared upstairs, and he looked towards the kitchen with trepidation written clearly on his face. Following Rick would be a bad idea, but going to the garage on his own…? He’d always had clear instructions not to mess around in there when Rick wasn’t home. Or even when Rick was home. He avoided the place altogether, really, and had done so ever since his last visit had ended so disastrously.

Besides, even though Rick had promised a reward, without the family there to bear witness (useless as they were when shit hit the fan) Jerry was suddenly less sure about that reward. Maybe it really was a trick Rick was playing on him. But then there was that memory of Rick’s strong arms around him, and Jerry was surprised at just how nice that had made him feel. If there was more of that in the garage… it might just be worth the risk.

He headed to the garage, carefully opened the door, and stood in the very center of it (careful not to touch anything) with his hands clasped together behind his back. Looking around, the garage that had once been his domain seemed so alien now (in more ways than one). Why did Rick want him here? Would any of these strange devices end up being featured? Hopefully not… honestly, another hug might be enough of a reward.


	13. Good Ricks Come to Those Who Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerry has been a Very Good Boy and is next in line for a coveted Rick Sanchez Reward...will it be as fulfilling as he hopes? Our unlovable genius patriarch as quite a few nasty tricks up his sleeve, so let's all take a moment to send Jerry good vibes as he puts himself at the mercy of Rick!

When Rick arrived in the garage, he found Jerry looking completely lost, standing in the center of the cold cement trying his best to look like a piece of furniture. He rolled his eyes as he entered and tossed a beer bottle from the six pack he was carrying at Jerry. “Yo head’s up.”

He crossed to the other side and plopped down in his chair, setting the six-pack on the workbench beside him and opening a beer for himself as well. “Jerry despite being de-aged if you stress this much y-you’re gonna turn your hair gray.”

Jerry only just managed to catch the beer, and clutched it to his chest to make sure it wouldn’t clatter to the ground. He twisted off the cap, and took a sip. It didn’t taste like it was laced with anything. Was this his reward? Having a beer with Rick? Well, that wasn’t too bad. He did like beer. And he didn’t get to hang out with other guys an awful lot. Red Rob had invited him over to a barbecue party at his place but it had seemed a little like crossing boundaries, so he’d politely declined the invitation.

“You’re right,” he said, “but, uh, I can’t really help it…” He looked around for another seat, but then decided Rick might not want him to actually sit down on a desk or whatever, and so he elected to walk towards Rick a little and sat down on the ground, cross-legged. This was kind of nice! Despite his worries, he was already starting to relax a little. “I’ve always been this way, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Jerry, I said that to coach you to relax, not so you’d share your inner struggles, Jesus.” Rick tipped his beer back and finished it. He set the bottle on the table, opened a new one, and looked down at Jerry. “This is a reward, not a counseling session.” Fuck. Jerry’s worrying was going to make his dick soft. Time to have some fun at his expense so at least it wasn’t a total wash.

“Hey Jerry.” Rick flashed his teeth just before tipping his second beer back to finish it. “How’s about you put your uniform on for me?”

Jerry shrank back the moment Rick told him off for baring his soul. So far this was like most of his conversations with Beth, and that meant he was well-trained. “Alright, sorry,” he mumbled, and watched with slight concern how Rick was putting away beer after beer. He took another swig. Maybe he should get drunk too? Was that also the reward? Getting fucked up with Rick?

And then that request. No, not a request. A command. Jerry immediately remembered that swat to the seat of his shorts earlier that day, the way Rick had leered at him, and how he had complimented Red Rob for his design choices. “Oh,” he said, and he was about to add a whole lot more when he thought better of it and got up, putting his bottle on the floor. “Sure?” he said (no, not said. Asked) and he headed out the garage, glancing over his shoulder and offering Rick an apprehensive little smile.

His uniform was where he’d left it – stashed at the bottom of the laundry basket where no one would hopefully find it. It didn’t smell too bad (a little sweaty, a little musty, but not as bad as Rick smelled on a daily basis so certainly it’d be fine). He held it in front of him, and wondered just what Rick’s plans were. What was this reward going to turn out to be? Wearing a humiliating outfit while Rick got trashed? Well, as long as he didn’t get his butt thrashed that might just be good enough. He shucked off his pajamas, and as always put on the clinging V-neck before squeezing into the tiny, tiny red shorts. Usually he felt kind of nice about his body when he put on the figure-hugging outfit, but now it felt a little like he was a lamb dressing itself for a wolf.

He even went as far as putting on his white sneakers, and then hurried downstairs. He tugged the hem of his pants down a bit, and then finally entered the garage, spreading his arms a little awkwardly. “Ta...dah…?” He even added in a little spin, feeling a little stupid to do so, but figuring Rick might appreciate it.

While Jerry was gone, Rick finished the rest of his beers and started in on his flask. By the time Jerry returned, squeezed into red polyester and entering with a (sigh) pirouette, Rick was mightily tipsy. 

He beckoned with his free hand while his flask sloshed in the other, and when Jerry was within grabbing distance, Rick reached around and smacked his seat. "Yow! L-lookit you, huh?" 

Then he leaned back, stretched his legs out, and let his knees fall to the side, fondling his package as he looked Jerry over. Damn the boy was truly cute in that stupid red uniform--the perfect combination of dork-ass dipstick with a killer physique he seemed to be blissfully unaware of. Rick made a twirling motion with his hand and encouraged Jerry to spin around. "C'mon Jer, show off for me a little, l-lemme see how you look. When's last time anyone told you to get all dressed up and sexayyy?"

Jerry had never once in his life been asked to dress up and get all sexy, sexay, or sexayyy. As a result, he stood frozen for a moment, reeling from that smack (and fearing there might be more), and staring at the absolutely shameless way Rick was currently touching himself, with Jerry _right there in the room_. His mind – not particularly quick-witted at the best of times – was clocking double hours to try and process all this new information. So this was the reward?

Figuring he might as well try to make Rick happy (it was better than the alternative), he downed the rest of his beer for a bit of Dutch courage and gingerly put the empty bottle on Rick’s workbench, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “When you say show off, should I…” Jerry looked around, a bit jittery. “Do you have a sign I should throw around, or…?” There seemed to be no sign in his immediate vicinity. His moves would look even sillier without something to toss in the air, and Jerry again tried to tug down his pant legs (to no avail). “I’m… this is new to me, Rick! Should I – I can…? Should I, should I dance…?”

Scoffing, Rick drank from his flask, willing himself to get drunk. “I-I said show off Jerry, not audition.” Rick looked him over and then twirled his finger in a circle. “Turn around. N-now kneel. Yeah, just like that. Okay Jerry, now stick that ass out. C’mon stick it out, n-nothing I haven’t seen before. Yeah, now look back at me…” Rick looked at the ceiling when Jerry turned around, “Come on Jerry gimme a better face than that, stick your fingers in your mouth.” 

Was it humiliating? Sure. Being told how to act and what to do as a grown man was not something you were supposed to enjoy. And yet… the moment Rick started using that authoritative tone of voice to give Jerry extremely clear instructions, it was like he was an Etch-A-Sketch that someone had drawn a squiggle on, and Rick had just shaken him all clean. Of course, being blank wasn’t the best thing to be. But it was better than being a mess.

He complied hastily, kneeling down and arching his back. Rick barely had to instruct him to look back: he was eager enough to see whether Rick approved of the way he was moving. More than a little flustered, he placed the pads of the requested fingers at his bottom lip and hesitated for a moment. This brought to mind memories of the last time he’d indulged in anything oral with Rick, and that had not ended all that great for him. But that had been a punishment and this was a reward.

Slowly, intuiting that this was about being careful and taking his time rather than going through the motions as quickly as possible, he slid the two digits into his mouth, drawing them out a little to wet his bottom lip before pushing them back in. He stuck out his ass a little more, steadying himself with his free hand, and only let his fingers out of his mouth with a wet _pop_ to add a shaky: “Like – like this?” Inspiration struck, and before he went back to sucking on his two fingers as if they were coated with an antidote to some lethal poison, he said: “...grandpa?”

"Oh my God." Rick closed his eyes for a moment to wipe that out of his memory. "Let's stick to either Rick or Sir, Jerry, fuck..." He stood up, and approached Jerry on the floor, towering over him with a patient, but long suffering expression. "J-just do exactly as I say, y-you keep fucking up because you're so goddamn nervous. I'm not going to fuck you up Jerry--at least not at present, so just chilllllllll." 

And as he dragged out that last syllable, he reached down to Jerry and ruffled his hair, smoothing his palm down, being gentle and sweet, until the moment he felt Jerry's shoulders begin to relax, he snatched him up by the back of his shirt. The uniform being as tight as it was made it a nice tool to pull and yank poor Jerry around, and so with long strides, Rick pulled Jerry to the work bench, and bent him over it, taking his seat again while holding Jerry to the table with one hand. 

"L-let's get to the fun stuff. Right now Jerry, you get to pick. Imma make you cry, cum and call. I'll let you pick the order."

Maybe the true proof that Jerry was an idiot lay in the fact that for a brief moment, he really did feel like he was about to have a nice little cuddle with the guy who beat his ass on an all-too-regular basis. “Rick-Rick, wait…!” left his mouth the moment Rick’s demeanor changed and he was deposited over the bench. This was a position he’d been in before (albeit not over this exact bench), and he looked behind him with wholly warranted worry.

Cry, cum, and call…? He wanted to do only one of those things. Maybe two. What did Rick mean by ‘call’? Like a crank call? No. That would be stupid. So what kind of calling then? Calling someone else into the garage? But he wanted to enjoy this rare moment of one-on-one time with Rick that did not revolve around name-calling and humiliation… or not as much as his usual interactions with Rick did.

Regardless, the knowledge that he’d be crying before he left the garage sank into his stomach like a stone. This was supposed to be something nice! “What… what’s call?” he asked, figuring he’d buy himself some time to figure out the perfect order (which surely existed, just like in those online games he sometimes played: an order that would only lead to progress and happiness and… relief).

"It means what it means Jerry." Rick replied dismissively. He rummaged around in his desk out of sight of Jerry's gaze and finally found what he was looking for after a moment of looking. 

"Stay." he commanded, in a tone he usually would've reserved for Snowflake, and peeled back the hem of the back of the red shorts. Before Jerry could squirm around, Rick pressed the head of the vibrator right up against his asshole, but through his underwear, and once it was positioned right, he pulled the shorts back up and into a fierce wedgie, securely trapping the vibrator against Jerry's hole. With a firm hand on the shorts, Rick began to briskly spank his seat. Firm enough that the swats would have juuuust a bit of sting through the two layers of fabric but soft enough that a weak-kneed putz like Jerry should be able to tolerate it. "Pick Jerry."

That wasn’t a very satisfying answer, and speaking of things that were not very satisfying… the sudden insistent pressure against his still-covered asshole was just too much and way too little at the same time. Jerry squirmed a bit, but couldn’t help widening his stance a little anyway – even when that first smack landed. He’d been spanked by Rick a couple of times now, and this didn’t feel like a punishment or a warm-up. For a moment, he wondered if this was why Morty was so damn keen on ending up over Rick’s knee. There was something kind of pleasant about it like this – the spreading warmth, the feeling of not having to be in charge. Even so, after a few smacks the sting was getting less than pleasant, and he realized he had to make a choice.

No doubt about it, there were two certainties in Rick’s offer. Crying would be bad, and – and cumming would be nice. So the only unknown factor was calling, and that could really go either way. The smartest thing then would surely be to do the thing that was going to be painful and shitty first, then the unknown factor, and to then end with something that even Rick couldn’t twist into something bad… right?

“Oh! Oh–” he said, breathing a little heavily and standing up on his toes in a pathetic attempt to mollify Rick ( _see?_ the gesture said, _I’ll accept what you want to give me – and doesn’t my ass look good like this?_ ). “Ah – Si-Sir, please, uh...” With flushed cheeks, he finally managed: “I’ll, I’ll… could I please c-c-cry first and then, and then call?” In a decidedly smaller voice: “And then… cum? Sir?”

Man. Regardless of what was about to happen, the whole unfamiliar atmosphere with Rick seeming to be somewhat into him and the promise of cumming was enough to have his teenage cock hardening a little, restrained by the tight fabric of his shorts. And that vibrator – well, that was just _no_ help.

Upon hearing Jerry's order a nasty little smile spread across Rick's face for a flash and then vanished again as he readjusted his hold. "A sexy little thing wrapped up in red asking me to make them cry?" Rick began smacking away in earnest, holding the shorts tightly against Jerry, his hard hand repeatedly slamming into his bottom. "W-well who am I to say no to a request like that?" 

Rick paused his onslaught to roughly grope the pert butt through Jerry's uniform. "Gotta say Jerry, this is a good look. I should - I should make you wear short shorts around the house, I bet everyone w-would want to peek at this." He swatted again, and punctuated 'this' with a sharp pinch. He turned on the vibrator at it’s lowest setting, and then, perhaps deciding that he was done playing around, Rick began spanking sincerely. His hand smacking hard into Jerry, leaving no doubts as to Rick’s strength.

Although Jerry had some very sincere doubts about the desire of his family members to see him in short shorts on a daily basis, his ears still burned at the compliment. People generally didn’t say nice things about Jerry’s body – not before his transformation, of course, but even afterwards it wasn’t a common occurrence in the least. Even the way the swats increased in pace and force couldn’t really wipe the little flattered smile off of his face – not until Rick got properly started at least.

In a way Jerry hadn’t really believed Rick would make him cry. The start of the spanking had seen innocuous, for Rick’s MO at least. It was rapidly becoming clear to him that he had been mistaken. The way Rick groped and slapped his barely covered ass was quickly going from painfully delightful to just painful – and then the buzzing.

Jerry practically jumped, and it was a good thing Rick was keeping him in place. “Oh – oh god,” he stammered, unfamiliar with the sensation and not sure whether he loved or hated it. He didn’t have a lot of time to contemplate it as Rick’s hand came down again and again, and although Jerry managed to dutifully keep his legs spread, his knees were starting to budge inward.

It hurt, and it was uncomfortable, and his dick was getting harder still. Could he make himself cry on purpose? Well, he could, he’d done it before – but would Rick notice? Of course he would. “Please,” he said thinly, not entirely sure what he was asking for. “Please,” again, but then an unexpected smack tore a proper yelp from him, and like his wife before him, he found himself hopping from one foot to the other… which only jostled the buzzy vibrator against his virgin asshole some more.

"Oh are we getting a bit anxious?" Rick continued to spank, his voice clear and amused above the racket. "That eager to cry all over my work bench?" Rick paused, and with his fingers, found the vibrator through the red shorts and pushed it in, worrying the tight little asshole he knew it was pressing against and surely chafing by now. If Jerry was made of stronger stuff, he might have actually inserted it, but, as he had to keep reminding himself, this was a reward and Jerry was trying harder than anyone else in the house to be good, so might as well incentive proper behavior. 

Of course, it was still a spanking, and Rick was still a sadist. He readjusted his hold on Jerry, turned up the dial on the remote, and began to spank again. Now he focused on really drilling his hand hard into Jerry's shorts covered bottom like a paddle, and he had stopped pausing for Jerry to breathe, instead swatting away right through his son-in-law's breathlessness to thoroughly warm his backside.

Now that it was clear that Rick would really not be stopping until proper tears were flowing, Jerry suddenly found it more difficult to tear up than he usually did. He was the first (maybe not the first) to admit that he was a weepy sort of guy but now that the ending of his current torment depended entirely on his ability to turn on the waterworks he found himself uncharacteristically unable.

And it wasn’t for lack of motivation. Rick’s hard palm seared swat after stinging swat against the seat of his shorts, which in their current state of being pulled up all the way inside his crack offered no protection. Jerry helplessly clawed at the workbench, his cheek pressed to the cold metal of it, the corners of his mouth pulled down with dismay. The vibrator had gone from pleasant in a kind of frustrating way to being more irritating than anything else, and still smack after smack rained down.

“Rick!” he cried out, his voice rising an octave and the whole _Sir_ game temporarily forgotten, “y-you’re being – that’s too much!!” And it was rapidly becoming just that. His ass felt more than warmed up now, and Jerry was readily approaching the stage where any reward he might be receiving would be tainted by having a sore bottom.

More than the actual spanking it was that self-pitying thought that finally had a tear slide down his nose, and the subsequent relief had him devolving into proper, full-blown sobs – Rick’s hand to his backside made sure the well didn’t try up too soon, too. “I’m-I’m crying!” he managed. “I’m – please, please stop!!”

"Shush." Was all Rick had to say. Jerry might think he was being tortured, but Rick had spanked him far worse than this before, and Rick knew Jerry was just whining, as usual. He stopped spanking for a moment and played with the vibrator trapped between Jerry's cheeks. "It's _not_ too much, stop getting all in your head and just endure it." In an uncharacteristic moment of softness, Rick smoothed his hand down Jerry's spine, removing the tender touch as abruptly as he began. "Doesn't it feel good to cry?" Rick began swatting away again -- he didn't really care if Jerry in the present moment couldn’t appreciate a nice cathartic cry, but he would later on. Rick self righteously nodded to himself. He was doing Jerry a favor, if anything. 

But the boy was indeed crying, even a few miserable little hiccups punctuated the sounds. Standing back, Rick whipped out his phone and snapped a picture of Jerry's ass, half exposed with his shorts pulled up into his ass, his cheeks glowing with a color reminiscent to the tight fabric they bulged out of. 

"Alright Jerry, alright--" Rick helped him up from the bench, sighing at Jerry's theatrics, and taking a seat on his chair, he pulled Jerry into his lap, settling him on his thigh and ignoring the way he yelped as his bottom brushed against Rick's khakis. 

With Jerry in his lap, Rick shushed him not unkindly, but truthfully, Morty was the only person with whom Rick felt truly at ease showing overt tenderness, but he soothed Jerry's plaintive crying until he had quieted to sniffles. Handing his phone to Jerry he tapped the screen. 

"Call Red Rob's Ready Cars."

It was all just so _much_ , and so contradictory too! The spanking, the stroking, the shushing – Jerry’s mind felt like it was ten yards behind his body, just trying to catch up. He whined and wiggled as Rick pushed the vibrator a little deeper, almost far enough for it to pop in – only to let it go again, and just as he’d adjusted to that sensation did the caress come, and right when he’d wrapped his mind around _that_ there’d been more smacks… His crying went from self-pitying to plain old over-stimulated, and by then he was far gone enough that he hardly even noticed the shutter sound of the phone’s camera.

All too gratefully he let Rick pick him up, and maybe he did lean against Rick too much when he was pulled onto his father-in-law’s lap once more. A little ashamed of his tears (even if he’d been expected to cry), he turned away his face and cried into the fabric of Rick’s sweater, both feeling sorry for himself and relishing the strange and wonderful feeling of being somewhat comforted by Rick Sanchez, of all people.

He was about ready to agree that in a way, this whole spanking-first soothing-second thing really was something of a reward when the nature of the call became suddenly evident, and he sat back, staring at Rick with red-rimmed eyes and undisguised horror.

“What?” Did Rick know something? No. No way. Jerry had barely admitted – no, there was nothing _to_ admit, nothing _to_ know. Rick might be a genius but even he couldn’t find out information that didn’t exist. “They’re… they’re closed,” he mumbled, taking the phone anyway. He glanced up at Rick, curling in on himself. “No one’s there to answer,” he said, and only when the much-awaited _okay, nevermind then, Jerry_ didn’t happen did he slowly dial the number which he had memorized from twirling a sign with the damn thing on it for months. His thumb hovered over the ‘call’ button. “Why are we…?”

Rick pressed the call button for Jerry and grinned evilly. "Hey, you picked the order, not me." And then he turned his attention to Jerry's boner in the front of his shorts just as the first ring blared through the phone. Rick cupped Jerry's balls and rolled them expertly with his fingertips, stroking up his cock as the phone rang twice more and was finally answered by the automated machine. 

"Thank you for calling Red Rob's Ready Cars where we're driven to make you a deal! Our normal operating hours are Monday through Friday, 9am to 6pm, and Saturday and Sundays, 10am to 2pm."

As the chipper female voice happily answered the phone, Rick picked up the pace, jacking off Jerry through his shorts, alternating the buzzing of the vibrator so that it was more similar to a throbbing sensation that a constant buzz. 

"If you know your party's extension you can dial it to leave a message at any time, or choose from the following options: To leave a message for Sales, press 1. Service, press 2. Parts and Repair, press 3..."

Jerry was writing in his lap like a fish, but Rick's solid hands kept him still as he was groped, tugged, teased and played with. Rick noted with pleasure how sweaty his uniform was becoming. 

"Front Desk, press 4. To leave a message with Red Rob, press 5--"

Rick jammed the surface of the phone for option 5, and then with both hands, drew Jerry closer still to him, one hand on the vibrator moving it back and forth and the other securely wrapped around Jerry's cock, pumping consistently. 

"Hi! You've reached Red Rob, of Red Rob's Ready Cars, where the right car is right here! My apologies for not being at my phone right now, but please leave your name, number and the nature of your call, and I'll return it at my earliest convenience, thank you!!"

A low tone signaled the beginning of the allotted time for leaving a message. Rick looked at Jerry with a gleam in his eye. "You must cum before the end of the message."

If Jerry had wanted to suss out Rick’s deeper motives, he would’ve been unable to do so anyway the moment Rick laid a finger on his needy, throbbing cock. The last time someone other than himself had touched that part of him had been… when? Jerry could hardly remember, his mind hazy with the sheer skill with which Rick was stroking him. Sore ass or no, he clenched his cheeks, trying to get more of that contact between Rick’s fingers and his crotch.

The automated voicemail didn’t even register. Who knew what Rick’s plan was? Who cared?! “Yes – yesssss,” he groaned, the new sensation of the vibrator almost reminiscent of how it felt when he had a finger of two up there himself. Like something pushing in and pulling out. Like how it might feel to have that fat di– 

No, no, he couldn’t be thinking about that. Not now. He whined, threw his head back, and continued to gyrate into Rick’s touch, desperate for release already. And yet it was all almost enough but just, just a little shy of pushing him over that edge.

The closeness of Rick’s body – the sour smell of his clothes and his breath, the scent of alcohol permeating every fiber of his being, all of it things Jerry had come to associate with being unhappy and yet know there was this feeling of slowly, slowly building release to muddle his mind. And then the sound of his boss’s voice. His eyes, which had drifted shut as he let Rick tweak and touch and torment him snapped open, only to be faced by a devious-looking Rick.

He didn’t even understand initially. Which message? But then the silence after the beep, and his blood ran cold. Before the voicemail recording ended? But – but how long would that be? And… wouldn’t it be recording…?

He searched Rick’s face for a trace of mercy and, of course, found none. It wasn’t even a matter of weighing his options – worked up and red-bottomed still, Jerry took Rick’s every word as gospel. He had to cum. And he had to do it before the second beep.

In sheer desperation, he slung his arms around Rick, and proceeded to rut up against him almost aggressively. Even though he tried to muffle his panting and whimpering by pressing his face into Rick’s neck, he didn’t quite succeed in doing so. “Please,” he pleaded, “I-I-I want to – I need, I need a little more, please–!”

It was actually rather cute, Jerry all sweaty and upset and teary, wrapped in that stupidly tight uniform, freshly spanked and insanely turned on. Seeing Jerry in such distress had Rick popping a boner himself and for a moment he considered stopping touching Jerry so he would miss the second beep, just to see him crumble. 

Then again, Rick told himself, he'd have to deal with a completely bereaved Jerry and that was less cute and more just fucking annoying. As Jerry slung his arms around his neck, Rick readjusted his hold on Jerry's dick and gave him something to thrust into as the boy frantically, desperately tried to get off in time. 

Turning his mouth against Jerry's neck, Rick rumbled deep in his chest as he touched all the places on Jerry that hadn't been touched in far too long. 

"Come on baby, y-you have enough time. L-lemme hear you, c'mon Jerryyyy... _Cum!"_

Jerry’s thrusts grew more erratic as he was nearing the end of his ordeal. Being able to run his still-covered erection up against and into Rick’s fist was almost, almost enough. The suffused warmth of his throbbing bottom almost got him that last bit he needed, but something was missing, something vital, something he needed right now or he wasn't going to make it and then Rick would be upset with him again and he didn't want that, least of all. 

Then those dry, chapped lips against his sweaty neck. The deep voice commanding him in no uncertain terms. The vibrator against his sensitive asshole, almost inside him. His toned thighs were starting to tremble, and although he had no idea how much time had passed he could tell the deadline was nearing. It was so sweet, so mean, so stressful, so amazing. 

“I'm-I'm-I'm so cloooose!” he whined, freshly sobbing all over again with sheer frustration. What if he didn't make it? Would Rick take him without lube? Would he tell Rob his shameful secret? Both at the same time? Both at the same time…

And that was it. Holding onto Rick tightly, Jerry did what he hadn't done in years and actually came in his pants. “Thank you,” he whimpered, “thank, thank you, si-si-siiiir…!!”

Rick held Jerry through the shudders of his orgasm. His son-in-law had a mild crush on Red Rob he guessed, and his reaction to the voice message only confirmed Rick's suspicions. As Jerry sobbed into his shoulder Rick nodded to himself; yes, this was excellent information with which to further humiliate this weepy idiot. 

And speaking of weepy, Rick began to disentangle himself from Jerry. Spanking him silly had gotten a rise out of Rick but this unfortunate carrying on and pathetic ineptitude - honestly, who can't cum on demand - was annoying enough to make his dick soft yet again. As he firmly helped Jerry up off his lap, Rick promised himself he'd indulge his meanness, and soon--being kind and sweet to Jerry was a bore and a half. 

"J-just think Jerry, if you keep behaving your next reward might be even _better."_ Although Rick privately decided he'd move the goalposts a bit... No sense in rewarding these bratty Smith's more than they deserved! 

"Time for bed," Rick announced, and gestured toward the door to the garage. "Cuz, y-you got signs to twirl, people to see--yeah? Alright, go on now." Rapidly nearing the end of any "kindness reserves" Rick had in him he shooed Jerry to the door.

A little light-headed and confused, Jerry was all too happy to let Rick manhandle him off of his lap. He looked down at the uncomfortable and rapidly cooling wet spot at the front of his shorts, and blearily looked back at Rick when he was already halfway to the garage door. There was something he was forgetting. Something important. Something he should have paid more attention to. It was difficult to think in his post-orgasm haze, if only because his tender ass and the subsequent tears had wiped his mind blank entirely. Yes, he felt almost empty – but in a nice kind of way, the kind of way you might feel if you spent all day in a hammock during one of the first proper summer days.

Plus… an even better reward next time? Jerry had no clue what that could possibly entail. But also, how was he supposed to be better? Rick’s instructions had been for him to help around the house, and he did that, and to get a job, which he had not only managed but was now excelling at. So where could he improve?

And then, of course, the third instruction Rick had given him all that time ago. Despite the clear instructions to go to bed, Jerry trotted back – hesitantly at first, but then more determined. He promptly sank to his knees before Rick. “What about you?” he said. “The, uh – the other thing you told me to do. I’ve been practicing. Only – because you told me to.” That last addition was not entirely the truth – Jerry had some other motivation to train that particular skillset. Too coy to actually say it out loud, he simply bit his bottom lip, wetting it a little, and looked up at Rick. 

That night in the living room had been terrible, but Rick was right – just because it had been so humiliating and depressing, he remembered it very well. _Apologizing before you even get started is a shit start. When has anyone anywhere wanted a hummer described as careful? Tell me how much you want to suck my fat cock, and I better believe you. Be a man about it and suck my cock properly. Stop looking at me like I’m going to murder you Jerry, it’s not appealing._

“I’ve been thinking about it when I was practicing,” he said, which is at least sort of the truth, “about how – how I want to make you feel good. And how it’ll make me feel good. I want – I want to take it. I can!” Cheeks flushed, he decides to just throw in little details of the fantasy that’s gotten him through so many sessions with bananas. “I-I know it’s a privilege and that I’m a… that I’m, uh – a slut. Slutty. For asking. But can I please?” He scoots a little closer, puts his hands on Rick’s thighs, his mouth just a little open. “You can sit back. Or you can be rough with me. I-I’ll like it either way. Just ‘cause you’re letting me. That’s good enough for me.”

Rick was beginning to regret his kindness as Jerry was already getting far too caught up in his own idea of what slutty behavior should look like. And yet, down between his legs, shorts riding up his thighs, nipples poking through his shirt, he did look fetching… 

So Rick stood up, nearly knocking him over, and yanked Jerry to follow him by the collar of his shirt. Back to the work bench. Where Jerry was abruptly pushed right back over. And when he began to whine and squirm, Rick smacked him once to keep him still, and then pulled his shorts and underwear down, just below the curve of his ass for a push-up effect. 

“My, how quickly we forget to follow the rules hm?” Jerry was so deeply unhappy at being over the bench again that Rick was springing a chub and he snickered as he located the vibrator tangled in Jerry's clothes. “B-but that was a generous offer, Jerry. Let's see how well you can ‘take it.’”

Rick pried away Jerry's left ass cheek, unceremoniously spat on his asshole, and then the vibrator was shoved inside. With the wire hanging out like a little tail, Rick pulled it, pressing the vibrator again Jerry's entrance, before letting his ass suck it back in again. He patted his pocket for his flask, but discovered it empty. Sighing, he shook out his shoulder and lined up his hand with Jerry's bottom. “You think you're better than Morty?” The rhetorical question had a deep, dangerous edge to it that informed _you are not better than Morty._

Rick delivered a proper swat at full strength and the howls it produced made him fully hard. As his right hand smacked, his left hand unzipped his fly and he pulled himself out with a wicked grin, beating Jerry over the table all over again. Pausing, he turned the vibrator back on, and then continued spanking. “Y-you still don't really get what gets me goin’ Jerry.” Rick laid his cock out on top of Jerry's ass. God, it actually looked beautiful--a fat, veined, uncut dick framed by a taut, red ass. It's the simple pleasures really! 

Obviously Jerry had not actually been looking forward to sucking Rick off. What he had been looking forward to was for Rick to praise him, to not just reward him with a bottom-warming and a handjob but with nice words, maybe even another kiss. Blowing Rick was just a less-than-pleasant means to achieve that end, and it was a trade-off he was really quite happy to make. What he _hadn’t_ been banking on was that offering himself to Rick could also result in yet another spanking, and if he’d known that this would be the outcome he would have scurried up to his bedroom the moment Rick told him to.

The implication that his teenage son was a better person than he was (and that Rick valued him so, so much more) was as stinging as the continued smacks to his already abused ass. And that wasn’t the only way Rick was hurting him inside – the vibrator did not have enough lubrication to sit at all comfortably in his virgin hole, and the only way to alleviate the buzzing pressure was to angle his ass a little by standing on his tip-toes. Of course that just made his cheeks more of a target for Rick’s hand (that really might as well have been a paddle) and Jerry found himself caught between two equally undesirable sensations.

But then that feeling. Hot, velvety skin on his scorching ass. There was no doubt what that was, and regardless of everything else, apparently Rick was at least somewhat into the proceedings. “I don’t know what gets you going!” he immediately agreed. “It’s – you’re smarter than me! You know that. I’m, I-I don’t understand half the things you do or-or-or like but I just know that it’s important that I try to keep you happy!”

He tried to look behind him, to catch Rick’s eye. Red-faced, tears sliding down his cheeks, his voice thick with snot, he said: “And I-I’m sorry that I’m not – that I didn’t, didn’t think to play hard to get if that’s what you needed me to do, but I’m… I’ll, I’ll listen!” That was, after all, his real curse (and perhaps his real gift): Jerry Smith was a follower, a sheep, someone who needed to be led – but who would always, always come along.

So he still didn’t get it. Rick lazily slid his dick back and forth against the cleft of Jerry’s ass as he wondered if he had Morty pegged wrong and Jerry was the true idiot of the family. “If you don’t have any new information for me Jerry, _shut up.”_ Rick removed his cock and placed it back into his hand, jacking himself off as he gave Jerry another smack, and then another, and another. “Playing hard to get? Is-is that what you’re getting out of this?”

Rick leaned over his back, pressing his cock against him, letting him get acquainted with the size of the package digging into his lower back. ”Pay a little closer attention Jerry. Although, given y-your distress, I don’t expect you to pay attention to much else besides this ass--” He grabbed it to examine and laughed, “Red Rob is a man after my own heart. Red really is a good color.” And Jerry was indeed red. His ass nearly matched the polyester of his shorts perfectly, and for a moment, Rick contemplated adding some purple to the masterpiece but then decided he quite liked the juxtaposition of material and flesh matching exactly. Rick lifted up the back of Jerry’s shirt and aimed as he beat off, now desperate to come before he lost his boner yet again tonight. Jerry’s tears just helped him along. “Theeeere we go--” With a shallow grunt, Rick ejaculated onto Jerry’s back, pumping himself until he was sure he had fully released--and then, he pulled the red shirt back down, squishing it into the load on Jerry’s skin. 

Collapsing back into his chair, Rick reached over and pulled the still-buzzing vibrator out of his ass and dangled it in front of his weepy face. “Be grateful I didn’t make you put this in your mouth for your trip back upstairs. Now go to bed. Y-you probably have laundry to do tomorrow morning, heh.” 

With Rick’s load sliding down his spine, Jerry painfully pushed himself off of the workbench and stood before Rick, trying very hard to be grateful about the fact that he didn’t have to put something that had just been inside his own ass in his mouth. With the palm of his hand, he wiped his eyes, and then his nose, and nodded. Rick had gotten off and nothing too bad had happened. Why then did he still feel like this had been some sort of test… and he’d failed it? 

“Goodnight, Rick,” he mumbled, and with a bit of a grimace pulled his shorts up again before awkwardly hobbling towards the door. He opened it, and had almost closed it behind him when he decided to work up the courage to pop his head back in. “I’ll pay more attention,” he said quietly, and thought for a moment, but left it at that. The door shut with a soft _click_ , and Jerry made his way back up the stairs, stripping off his uniform and putting his pajamas back on. The laundry could wait until tomorrow morning, yes. He was exhausted. 

And yet he froze in front of his own bedroom door. Behind that door would be… Beth. And not just any Beth. A freshly spanked, ferocious Beth, who probably felt like he’d betrayed her just now. Even though he really hadn’t! She knew that Rick didn’t appreciate being lied to, so what had he been supposed to do when he was asked a direct question? Still, he gulped, and gingerly touched his own ass. Hopefully Rick really managed to teach her that spanking someone was not about taking your petty revenge… or he might be in for a world of pain. 

He quietly went in, praying that she would already be asleep and he wouldn’t have to deal with any aggression (passive or otherwise). 

Luckily for Jerry, he was greeted by the sight of his wife’s back, the covers pulled around her. Deflating with relief, he slid between the covers and glanced over at the gentle signs of slow breathing. Asleep. Thank god. Maybe she realized that she was really the only person to blame for her misfortune that night? Maybe she wasn’t upset with him after all? That was Beth, after all. She could be such a reasonable person. Supportive, really. Just an all-around wonderful mother and wife. 

And, as Jerry slowly sank into a good night’s sleep, a smile on his teary face – Beth was staring intently at the wall. Plotting. 

_Planning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A question for our lovely readers: Who has been your favorite pairing so far in this whacky fic? Your humble authors have our obvious favorites of course, but we'd love to know yours! Comment below if you'd like to share <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	14. My Son, in Whom I am Well Pleased

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people have children so they'll have someone to take care of them when they're older. Jerry Smith too expects his children to take care of him. Not when he's in a nursing home, though! There's no time like the present!

Yet another uneventful breakfast. There was a clarity now that had descended on the Smith household that had not been there before (not even before Rick showed up to throw all of their lives into a maelstrom that had sucked them further and further into his diabolic influence). Things were easier. Expectations had been articulated. All that was left was to meet them.

Still, this was easier for some than for others. Jerry still struggled with the way his ‘reward’ (the more he thought about it, the less it felt like it had been rewarding in any sense) with Rick had ended. He was doing what Rick wanted him to do, but it seemed like he was doing the bare minimum in Rick’s eyes, even if he was busting his balls at work and at home. It didn’t elude him either that those very same little affectionate pats that he’d sometimes see Rick give to Morty (or Beth, or Summer) were something he never received. It made sense that Rick would appreciate his daughter and grandchildren more than his son-in-law (the cold side of the family after all), but Jerry wasn’t getting any of that affection he craved elsewhere either.

Certainly not from Beth, who had not brought up her bath brushing at her father’s hand, but who had been decidedly frosty around Jerry since then all the same. Not around Rick, mind – just Jerry.

And then there was that question Rick had asked him. _Do you think you’re better than Morty?_ No doubt about it, Morty was Rick’s favorite – everything pointed towards that. But what was he doing that was so much better? Just going on adventures with Rick? But if Rick didn’t want Jerry to accompany him, then how the hell was he supposed to compete with that?

Sign twirling was a physically demanding job, but mentally it didn’t require much at all. This gave Jerry hours each day to turn these various conundrums over and over in his head. (After a mildly awkward run-in with Red Rob – the first day after his reward, the skin just peeking out below his shorts had still had a red tint to it, and Rob had asked him if the shorts were uncomfortable, if he maybe needed another size? Jerry hadn’t known just how quickly to flee that particular conversation with a mumbled “no, don’t worry!”)

He just needed to build on what he knew so far. He knew that Rick wasn’t pleased enough with him to give him special favors. (Or hugs.) He knew that Morty, apparently, did satisfy these esoteric requirements of Rick’s. And he knew that he, Jerry Smith, rather than being placated by sitting on Rick’s lap and humping his fist until he came in his pants… rather than being satisfied with that, he wanted more. More of all of it. But mostly more attention.

The only good thing about this whole mess of a home situation was that whatever taboos and societal contracts that might have dictated Jerry’s behavior before had now been all but suspended. Evidently his entire family was debauched. So then… why not ask for pointers?

It was with that thought in mind to steel his nerves (and silence his conscience) that he looked to Morty after dinner on Saturday, piling up the plates to take them into the kitchen. He’d carefully waited to be alone with Morty, feeling (perhaps not unwarrantedly) that his life was like an episode of _Survivor_ and he shouldn’t be broadcasting his desire to form a new alliance to just anyone. “Hey, sport?” he asked. “I’ve got some computer troubles in the den. Do you wanna help me out with that? I’d really appreciate it.”

Morty was on autopilot as he daydreamt about Jessica and the cute new skirt she had worn today in high school that was just a little too short. It was a rarity that he actually _went_ to high school these days, and while homework and classes weren’t especially fun, it was nice to see his friends, and he was a good deal more relaxed after a school day than he was after an adventure with Rick. He was halfway through a complicated fantasy involving an exhaust fan and Jessica’s skirt and the absence of panties when his reverie was interrupted in the kitchen.

“Oh, uh, sure dad, gimme a second to just put this stuff in the sink.” His dad seemed nervous, but then again, ever since Rick had begun to acclimate everyone to routine spankings, his father had had the hardest time adjusting. Not that Rick made it any easier, Morty considered; Rick really was too hard on his dad. But instead of going to the den to wait, his dad hung around behind him, pretending to rearrange items on the kitchen counter. Morty was dumb, but not as naive as he used to be thanks to Rick’s influence, and as he noticed his father’s strange manner the teenager began to wonder if this was really about computer troubles. 

“Okay, sh-show me uh, l-let’s look at the problem I guess?” They walked together in silence to the den, with Morty’s slow brain trying to work out exactly what was going on--uncomfortably assuming that there might be a bad surprise waiting for him in the den. Did his dad do something? Fuck, was his dad going to ask him for help getting away with something under Rick’s nose? It’s not like Morty hadn’t done that a couple times before, but trying to escape punishment was a delicate affair, one Morty was only minorly successful at. There was no way his father was clever enough or daring enough or frankly, confident enough to pull off a white lie in front of the blue haired patriarch. Inside the den, Morty looked expectantly at his dad. “Alright, so, what’s wrong with the computer?”

So caught up in his own tangled thoughts, Jerry almost forgot just why he had asked Morty to accompany him. He’d already turned on the computer (which, with much whirring and clicking, slowly came to life) when he realized that the encounter he’d been thinking about for days had now properly begun.

Never a good liar, he immediately started to fidget, pulling out the chair for Morty to sit in. “Uh, it’s a thing with iTunes,” he said. “Ever since that new software update with the, the Windows 10, I can’t… it’s, I don’t know how to put songs on my, on my…” Why was he still explaining this totally irrelevant (though sadly real) computer problem? He glanced at the door. People could just barge right in. Should he lock it? Well, how the hell would that look to Morty?

“Do you mind if I lock the door?” he asked. Okay, that definitely sounded worse than just locking the door would have looked. “Just so we’re not disturbed,” he added hastily. “I mean distracted. I mean...”

Morty was no stranger to locked doors and the things that occurred (or had the potential to occur anyway) behind them. He sank into one of the bean bag chairs as his father fumbled with the door and shrugged. “Sure? I mean, uh, it’s--I--I don’t care?” 

Perhaps Rick Sanchez had more of an effect on Morty than either of them admitted. Or perhaps Morty’s paranoia manifested in a series of specific ways based on the multitude of dangerous experiences he had now lived through. Either way, his eyes darted around the den looking for hints as to what was going on, and coming up short, landed on his sheepish father beside the computer. There was something uncomfortable in the atmosphere, and determined to get it over with (what ‘it’ was, time would tell), Morty directly addressed his father. “Dad, what’s going on? Is something wrong?”

Morty hoped--prayed even that nothing was wrong. Both parents often separately complained about the other to either Morty or Summer, but somehow, Morty sensed this had nothing to do with his mom and everything to do with another singular figure in the household. 

So much was wrong, and it was extremely tempting to unload every last bit of emotional baggage that Jerry had unto his unsuspecting son. In fact, in another life Jerry might have done just that. In _fact_ , he used to do that every now and then before Rick assumed his current position as lawmaker and tyrant of the Smith household. But today wasn’t about catharsis. Today was about learning.

Jerry paced towards the door, and locked it, before turning around and pressing his back against it as if Morty might try to flee. Or as if someone might try to break it down. “Morty, you’re uh… you’re a good kid.” Damn it. He should have prepared a speech or something before asking Morty to come here. Now, with a flesh-and-blood Morty sitting right in front of him, it was suddenly a lot more difficult to broach the subject. He rubbed the back of his neck, walked back to the desk, moved some pens around.

“I was talking to Rick the other day,” he started tentatively. As if he’d just had a nice sit-down with Rick over coffee. “About you.” His heart started beating faster. What if Morty ran off immediately to tell Rick about this? Would that be something he could get in trouble for? “He really likes you. Your grandpa.” Another pregnant pause as Jerry tried desperately to regain control over, if not the situation, then at least his vocal cords. “I’m… glad. That seems like a good thing to, to have be the case. Rick liking you.” Finally he mustered the courage to look up, and he forced a smile in Morty’s direction. “I, heh… I can’t say the same about myself.”

He immediately laughed. Not in a harsh or angry way, but truly a genuine, tickled laugh, and it was only when Morty caught sight of his father’s sadly serious face that he stopped and rubbed his arm anxiously. “Dad it’s not--I reeeally d-don’t think it’s as-as good a thing as you think it is…” Morty attempted to sit up straighter in the bean bag, but sank back down. “Look Dad, Rick is--he’s not a--” monster? He surely was! Morty tried again, “Rick isn’t someone that you should--I mean, he’s not--well…” Morty fidgeted more as he tried to explain things in such a way that he didn’t hurt his father’s feelings more than they undoubtedly already were. “I don’t think you want Rick’s attention the way you think you do, dad.” He finally concluded.

“Rick’s um…heeee’s...a lot. To handle. Especially on a regular basis.” It was odd to be in a position someone else coveted, and even odder for that position to be one Morty was usually trying to bargain his way out of. Being Rick’s right-hand man was frustrating, painful, physically and emotionally taxing, sure, it was fun a lot of the time too, but it was easy to lose sight of the moments of levity in the ocean of depravity and danger. Morty eyed his father. “I d-don’t know if you remember, or even… _wanna_ remember what my ‘reward’ looked like… but that’s standard ‘positive attention’ from Rick; is-is that something you really want?” Squirming in the bean bag chair feeling more and more awkward that he was the more experienced out of the two of them for a change, “Rick is never gonna be nice the way...well the way you want him to be nice dad.”

Jerry did remember that reward. Oh, he remembered the bits that had had him blanching – the belt, the command to hump his way to completion, the ginger, his son crying and moaning all at once with his legs spread. But he also remembered the other things. Rick calling Morty a _good boy_. Stroking his hair. Fingering him until he was all red-faced and giddy with it. Petting him and playing with him and – and enjoying it. Not acting like it was a chore or something distasteful.

“I guess,” he said, examining his nails to give himself an air of nonchalance. It was offset entirely by the fact that his eyes were wide open and he was worrying at his lip, briefly forgetting just whose company he was in as he thought about really being in that position, about really receiving Rick’s undivided attention, warts and all.

He took a step towards Morty. Glanced away again. “That’s not… something for you to worry about anyway. Just, how do I – how did you…?” Wringing his hands, his shoulders slumped, he addressed Morty’s chest rather than his face: “Just teac– just tell me, alright?”

So there was no way Morty would be escaping this easily. He was nonplussed by his father’s anxious demand and wracked his brain trying to discover what about his reward could have possibly been interesting enough for his father to desire it so. “How do I--what, dad?” Morty shot back, as confused as his father was desperate. “I’m not doing anything dad, honest, I--” Morty shrugged, “I don’t know why it’s like this?”

Was his dad asking him how to deal with a spanking better? Was that it? If so, Morty’s only tips would be ‘hold on for dear life’ and ‘lotion afterward.’ He had no good information that would benefit his father unless-- Morty looked at him carefully. What exactly did he _want?_ If he asked straight up he wouldn’t get the real answer. Obviously it was not more spankings. That was a desire Morty could recognize, and even assist with--oh, he could definitely inform Jerry how to invite a spanking from Rick that was easy as apple pie. And if it was just Rick’s attention his dad wanted, Morty had no sway over what drew Rick’s interest. What else had his father witnessed that seemed good enough to beg Morty for tips? With a flash, Morty suddenly remembered the words ‘good boy’ tumbling smooth and sweet out of Rick’s lips when his ass had been full of ginger and blazing red. Was that it? Morty almost started laughing again--sure he got ‘good boys’ and ‘well dones’ and ‘good job babys’ but that was only after suffering incredibly for the privilege! 

“Dad, I...dunno if it’s something I can teach, I mean… I’m kind of-kind of...well messed up? I don’t understand what you want from Rick…?” Maybe Morty could draw him out. Maybe--Morty sat forward with some effort and leaned his elbows on his knees, “Do, uh...do you know what I mean?”

Out of his two kids, Morty was definitely the one that Jerry generally had an easier time talking to. Summer could be so sullen with him, so denigrating – but Morty tended to be helpful, and… supportive, was maybe the right word? Not that children should support their parents, of course, but… Jerry decided not to examine that particular theory any further before it grew more depressing. Even now, though, it was clear that Morty wasn’t being withholding or coy and really wanted to help. That just made it worse that Jerry had had the sheer gall to take this problem to his poor, already oft-beleaguered son. But still. The memory of it – Morty writhing and squirming and looking so, so… what was the word?

(Loved, maybe? No. No, no no. Best not to think about it like that. Appreciated!)

With Morty conspiratorially leaning forward the way he was, Jerry felt all the more like a schoolboy who’d just been called into the principal’s office. Only in this allegory he would have requested a meeting with the principal? And the principal was a teenage boy? Maybe not a perfect comparison? At least they mostly looked to be the same age these days.

“No, no, I get that you – that, uh, that you find it… pleasant, to...” Jerry stammered awkwardly, too uptight still to outright name the fact that getting spanked evidently got Morty off. “That’s not me. I just. Y’know?” He stiffly closed the distance between himself and Morty, reached out, and ruffled the boy’s curls. Something he’d done plenty of times before but it still felt different now. “Like that, y’know?” he mumbled, pulling his hand away quickly.

Ohhhhh. Morty looked up quizzically as his dad hopped away again as if Morty’s hair had just burned him. “Um.” Morty touched his own curls. It _was_ nice when Rick was affectionate. Was that all this was about? “I hate to--well, disappoint you dad, but um… Yeah, Rick is only like that once he’s gotten all his--” Morty was about to say ‘aggression’ but it sounded too scary. “--Once he’s gotten all his spanking done, I guess.”

But that wasn’t true. There were moments when Rick would pat Morty on the head at breakfast just to say hello. Or would give his mom a dry peck on the cheek before she left for work. Or would just smile slightly at Summer as she twirled to show off a new shirt in the living room. The more Morty thought about it, the more he realized that it was these simple acts of gentleness that his dad was angling for, and depressingly, had probably never received. 

But wasn’t he supposed to get that from--Morty frowned, his mother had been more than a little off-kilter with everything going on, and certainly, she had had a strange look on her face when she had been spanked naked in front of the family days ago… It was gross to think about but his parents probably hadn’t had sex in a while, and even as a dumbass teenager Morty had a feeling sex was kind of important in a long term (sort of) monogamous relationship. Realizing he had been quiet too long, Morty kindly looked at his dad and sighed, “Aw, dad are you sure y-you’re okay? I think I--well, I’m only guessing, but I think I know what you’re getting at and...it’s not anything I can teach you, at least not that I can think of a way?” Morty rushed along, nervous for his next statement, but wanting to get it out anyway, “That kind of stuff...I guess, would it mean the same for you? I think you think it would, but you d-don’t really like Rick...and I don’t know how to teach you to like Rick?” Morty tried to explain more, struggling now to get out of the bean bag chair (it was the wrong seat from which to deliver such a strange speech) and got to his feet, leaning awkwardly against the desk. “It’s like um...if I got a hug from Mr. Goldenfold, I guess, I mean, it’d be okay? But a hug from Jessica is a million times better. Even if the hug is the same?”

These were all very good points and wise remarks, but Jerry’s life-long defense mechanism kicked in the moment he had to confront a truth he found less than palatable – he barely heard Morty’s arguments. Did he not like Rick? Well, not really, no – but he wanted to be liked by Rick. That was a kind of relationship, right? Surely you had to like someone at least a little if it was important to you that they enjoyed your company?

“Maybe I do like Rick,” he mused. “I just… when, when he called you, uh – a, a good boy. That was. I mean… and… and… I get what you mean with, with the hugs.” It would probably have been better all the same if Morty hadn’t brought up hugs because Jerry’s train of thought immediately (and tragically) derailed. Would he rather have a hug from Beth than from Rick? Yes. If he could choose. But he couldn’t choose, because no one was hugging him, not Beth certainly even though she was married to him – not even his children, and never, never Rick, even though he currently put the most time and effort into impressing Rick and pleasing him and making him proud. In fact, spankings be damned, Rick was the only one that had offered him some semblance of positive attention these past few months. So really it was just the path of least resistance to try to get more of that from Rick rather than from any of the others because it wasn’t like… like they would… like they’d ever…

Before Jerry knew it, he was already tearing up. Feeling sorry for himself was his primary mode of being but these days he was too busy and too distracted to indulge in it all too often. Now, though, with Morty being the only other person in the room and asking him all these questions and at least outwardly being interested in helping him, it was all a little too much. “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” he said, covering his eyes with his arm and trying to stem the tide at least somewhat. “That’s… that’s not something for you to have to, uh...”

He lowered his arm a little. To see if Morty was eyeing the door? Sure. But to detect any signs of pity or compassion…? Yes, that more than anything else.

Morty took a step forward, faltered, looked at his dad crying, and took another step. This wasn’t the first time his father had wept before him with little provocation, but repetition didn’t make it easier. Morty felt badly for his father, he did--but he also didn’t have any way to help him. Morty barely understood social cues and his own desires, and how in the world was he supposed to advise his dad when he barely could get it together? So he kept taking hesitating steps until he was standing before his father, and then he put his arms around him in the strangest, most ungainly hug he had ever delivered. His dad was nearly the same size as he was--a few inches taller, a bit more broad-shouldered, Morty wasn’t done with puberty yet, but really, it was like he had a big brother instead of a de-aged father who had lost his paunch but retained every anxious aspect of his middle-aged personality. 

“Not to contradict you, but-but I _don’t_ think you like Rick dad, and-and who would in your position? He’s not nice to you!” Morty honestly couldn’t imagine why this was a sticking point for his father. While Morty realistically couldn’t judge his parents for their teenage pregnancy because his older sister was the result, he understood exactly why Rick had been pissed, and would still be pissed even decades after the fact.Surely his dad could understand that? But it had been a long time. And Morty knew how Summer and his mom could get once they smelled fear or unease in his father. Morty suddenly hugged his dad tighter, and then released him. Awkwardly stepping away a bit and scratching his head as he looked out the window. “Maybe, um...you need to find..what you, uh...need. Find it with someone else? Someone not Rick?” As a teenager again, his father looked a lot like him, but more athletic perhaps, and abruptly, Morty wondered if his dad had tried to use that for his benefit yet. “I’m sure there are--well, not sure, but-- y-y’know, maybe you need some friends dad.” Morty tried to convey meaning with the word ‘friends’ but wasn’t sure if it would land. Not that he was encouraging his father to cheat on his mom, no certainly not, but...Morty had heard plenty transpire between his grandfather and his mother and that can’t feel good for his dad as the odd one out.

Even that awkward hug was like a refreshing drink of water for an extremely emotionally parched Jerry. He only let Morty break away a little reluctantly, but at least he’d stopped actively sobbing and was now simply looking at Morty blearily, hanging on every word. “Friends?” he repeated hollowly. He hadn’t really made friends in a while. He’d never been the type of guy to find friends just anywhere. First he’d just hung out with people from school, and then with people from work and his neighbors. But now he wasn’t going to school and the only other person at his job that paid him any attention was Red Rob, and that was his boss – not really someone he should be fraternizing with, right? Plus, the way Rick was now running the household wasn’t something that the neighbors necessarily knew the finer details about, but they could definitely sense something had changed (beyond the physical changes Beth and Jerry had gone through) and Jerry had seen fewer and fewer cookout invitations roll in.

“I-I don’t...” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m… I mostly work. And when I’m not at work I’m… I do my chores. Here.” Regardless of Morty’s extremely loaded way of pronouncing the word, Jerry was evidently still under the impression that Morty just meant platonic friends, and now shot Morty an even more desperate look. “But – you’re my son, so… you’re my, my bud, right? My pal?”

He advanced on Morty, eager now that Morty had dangled just that bit of physical affection in front of him, and grasped his son’s shoulders. “I know it’s not appropriate to say that about your kids but everything’s so different, so we’re – we can be friends, right?”

Morty didn’t know what to do here and was beginning to regret following his father into the den. “Gosh dad…” He laughed as a way to ease the tension, “Uh, I mean, kids and parents can be friends, even if you weren’t deaged? I mean, I don’t--I’m not--” His father’s hands on his shoulders felt _heavy_ and Morty wished Rick were there to inject some much-needed humor into a situation that was becoming more and more depressing. 

The more Morty looked around the room to avoid his father’s gaze, the more he began to wonder if this meeting was about more than just asking for tips on Rick? Besides that one time with Summer, he hadn’t attempted to mess around with his curvy redhead sister although it’s not as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Plus, his own mother had debased herself enough to give him, for god’s sake, a handjob after that aforementioned torturous reward session with Rick… Is that was his dad was talking about? Morty finally let his eyes fall on his father again. His dad would be cuter if he didn’t have his face constantly screwed up in a needy grimace. When his father was confident in something, or at least, self-assured, he could sometimes be pretty charismatic. Hell, Morty thought, he had managed to land his mom, and not that Morty thought she was hot, but, well, she _was_ hot!

“I k-kinda meant friends-friends, dad.” Morty adjusted the front of his jeans and looked meaningfully up at his father, “Uh, you know, _that_ kind. Just because you have work and chores and stuff doesn’t mean you can’t go have fun I guess?”

Oh. So that’s what Morty meant with ‘friends’. Friends with benefits. He chuckled uncomfortably, but (which was more important) didn’t immediately scramble away. Yes, he probably could go out and have fun… but that wouldn’t be the same. He didn’t want just anyone to be nice to him and tell him that they liked being around him. “I don’t just… it’s not like I want to, uh, be with someone for-for a night,” he flustered. “It’s… well, when it’s someone you see all the same, and-and someone you value it’s…”

But Morty was right. Even though he saw Rick all the time, he didn’t really value his judgment and really just obeyed him because the consequences of not doing so were worse than just going with whatever Rick Sanchez required from him. That and the fact that Rick was so damn withholding, and that he’d constantly see him be sweet to the other people in the house…

But maybe he needed to expand his search parameters a little. He squeezed Morty’s shoulders. “You’re a good kid, Morty,” he repeated. “Always… helpful.” Morty definitely wasn’t the only Smith in the den that could lend a certain seedy subtext to everyday words. He looked at Morty, his eyes still red-rimmed, but his gaze was more intent now. Searching Morty’s face for anything – a clue, acquiescence. Anything.

The old saying ‘you can’t be straight in space’ rang through Morty’s mind. Or was it an old saying? It was something Rick said all the time anyway. Regardless, Morty hadn’t considered himself straight since the first weird green and purple alien had gone down on him. While Jessica and Summer and the pretty, soft, nice-smelling creatures with boob-like appendages he sometimes encountered got his engine going faster than boys did, Morty found himself more than once thinking about maybe Brad at school, or one of the other Morty’s at the citadel...and obviously, of course, Rick. 

So was his dad that different? He _was_ cute. His arms were muscular in that nice teenage-boy way, not overly vascular and wiry like Rick. And when he wasn’t crying or whining or complaining or nagging, his dad had a lovely voice. A beautiful tenor with high and low range…

“Um.” Morty slowly moved his hand over to the front of his jeans again, and put his thumb against the button of his fly. “Doooo… uh… do you wanna maybe mess around dad? It-it might make you feel better…?” Christ above and hell below, what was he saying? What was he suggesting? But Morty stashed those questions for another time and thought of Rick’s gravelly voice, and Rick’s mean hands and Rick’s mantra _don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it_ and felt his cock chub up his jeans. He remembered how nervous and frantic and skittish the first time he’d ever done anything with Rick...this was like that, wasn’t it? Morty reached his other hand forward, and hesitated, his fingers hanging halfway between their crotches. “Uh, only if you w-want to…”

“We don’t have to mess around,” Jerry said, but the way he said it made it clear that he was very pleased with the turn of events. Still, even with Morty being this forward, it was difficult for him to let his teenage son free his cock for him. Besides, there was an important boundary here. “But, uh,” he said, taking a step forward, Morty’s hand now brushing against his zipper, “please don’t – don’t call me, uh. There’s no need for… just.” He tried to find the right words, tried to find the euphemistic way of articulating what he needed from Morty. He came up short. “Don’t call me dad,” he said, plainly, blushing at his own bluntness. “Call me something else. The other thing.”

And, still reeling at the sheer stones on himself for asking Morty such a lewd thing, he sank to his knees. He’d been with one man before, and that man was Rick. All of those encounters had centered around Jerry being bent over surfaces and/or getting used orally. So this whole lead-up… it was more uncomfortable than to just do something he knew he could do for sure. “I promise that after this I’ll… I’ll join a sports club or something,” he promised. “Make some friends. Right? That’s...” He swallowed the subsequent _what you want me to do_ , and elected to put his hands on Morty’s hips.

_Too much_ Morty’s mind screamed, and he fell to his knees right along with his father so they were face-to-face once again. To kneel in submission!! Before his son!! Morty was embarrassed on behalf of his father but had the sense to try not to show it. “Uhh--n-not--let’s--um--” Morty unzipped his jeans, thankful that the weirdness of everything hadn’t ruined his hard-on and fondled himself slightly through his boxer briefs. “Let’s slow down--okay?” But he quickly followed with, “I just--let’s do this together. I wanna do this together with you-” he swallowed ‘dad’ back down, and instead dropped his eyes to his dad’s crotch. 

Playing with himself, even just a little bit, got his teenage hormones going and in just a few seconds Morty was already fully hard, the cotton material of his boxers straining into a tent framed by his open fly as Morty pushed his hand into the front of his briefs and wrapped his hand around his cock. His father was still dawdling and hesitating, so Morty gently reached his hand forward and brushed his knuckles against the front of Jerry’s denim jeans, pushing against him just a bit, trying to be encouraging. “T-take it out--” and then, with a little smile, “Y-y’know, you got to see mine a few weeks ago, b-but I’ve never seen yours...um…” He smiled a little wider, a little cuter as he looked at his dad, his de-aged dad, who for all intents and purposes was just a cute teenager like Morty. “Show me, I wanna see it.”

Jerry was surprised enough that Morty apparently didn’t want to get sucked off, and then even more surprised when he expressed a sincere desire to see his cock. As always, just a modicum of positive reinforcement was enough to lift Jerry’s spirits (and self-confidence), and he mirrored Morty’s grin. The family resemblance was more obvious now, but it didn’t put Jerry off – in fact, seeing that coy kind of happiness on Morty’s face that he’d seen before on himself (in, for example… his wedding pictures) only made him feel safe.

“Alright, alright!” While his hands made quick work of his zipper, he took the plunge to lean in and peck Morty – on the cheek, but still. He sat back, clearly wondering if that had been taking it too far (as if taking out your cock in front of your dad/son wasn’t taking it too far in itself). “I really want to kiss you,” he said, and it was true enough – maybe not Morty specifically, but Morty was right there and willing and smiling and being so nice to him, so why not? Who else? Who better?

He’d pulled his cock out by now, and eager to meet Morty’s pace, pumped himself excitedly until he too was hard, throbbing, _ready for it_. What _it_ might be he wasn’t fully sure about, but already his spirits were soaring and his stomach doing little flips. “Can I?” he asked. “Kiss you? I mean?”

“Yeah!” Morty leaned in and puckered his lips, kissing his father (kissing his father!) with all the ease and readiness as if they did it every morning and night. But he seemed so much happier, so much lighter with just a tiny bit of encouragement, that Morty didn’t have it in him to deny that. And honestly, that smooch tasted a lot better than Rick generally did, even though Morty couldn’t honestly say he preferred it. He stared at his father’s cock, if Morty was being completely honest, it was not what he expected. But what did he expect? Morty looked at his own and felt internally guilty that he had more girth than his dad; maybe the Sanchez side of the family was particularly strong.

After second-guessing himself over and over, Morty finally bit the bullet and reached over, touching his dad and himself simultaneously, faltering just slightly before talking himself into it again. “That’s--y-you’re doing great d--y-you’re doing really well,” Morty didn’t specify what he was going well. Jacking off? Sure go with that. On his knees, Morty inched a little closer, pushing his cock in and out of his hand as he drew closer to his dad until they were mere centimeters apart. 

“Uh, n-now, j-just--” Morty pressed himself against his father’s groin, and gasped a little as their dicks touched. The skin was scorching hot, and once again Morty felt bad for his dad. How long had it been? Opening his hand a little wider, Morty closed his fist around both cockheads and rutted into the makeshift hole. “J-just--is it feeling good for you…?”

It was feeling great. It was feeling _amazing_. Jerry had had a handjob just a few days ago of course, but this was different – this intimacy, this not-being-rushed. This was what being with someone could be like. Still, what had his every nerve ending fired up with a desire for _more, more, more_ wasn’t so much Morty’s warm palm against the over-sensitive head of his cock but those little words of encouragement, and that kiss. Jerry’s cock had a fist around it plenty of times (he figured that if he was going to be neglected by his wife he might as well literally take matters into his own hand) but there was no way to kiss yourself. That was something special. A rare treat.

“This is really nice,” he admitted breathlessly, but then he took his own hand away to instead sling his arms around Morty. They were close enough now that it was all too simple to draw him into a firm embrace, and as he did so their lips just happened to align just right. Jerry kissed Morty again, the way he did everything else – overeager, not particularly skilled, but so desperate for any kind of compliment that he really put his all into it.

And although he’d left Morty to take care of both of their dicks, he was clearly still grateful for the attention, thrusting into Morty’s fist again and again, gasping against Morty’s lips every time their cockheads slid against each other just right.

This whole thing was about learning how to please Rick better. Obviously that mission was a bust – there was no way Rick would ever do anything like this with him. But maybe that just meant he’d been trying to impress the wrong person. He pulled back a little and gave Morty a look that might have looked calculating on a smarter man. On Jerry it simply looked quizzical.

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Morty almost missed the probing gaze on his father’s face, and even when he noticed it, did his best to ignore the expression by moaning breathily into another kiss. It had been so long since Morty was in charge of something. With Summer, they had both been taking cues from one another, and with his mother, he had simply let her take control if only to slack his need to cum after a thrashing. And with Rick, well… there had been times where Morty had been on top and Rick felt like getting dick up the ass, but those were few and fleeting, and even then Rick was more of a power bottom and Morty still didn’t get to decide most of the activity.

But _here_ Morty was definitely in charge. He’d been the one to suggest this--well, his father had more or less tricked him into the den, but then couldn’t actually follow through. And even now, Morty was the one holding their dicks together as they rutted into his other hand. Morty was the one making his dad feel good, helping his dad relax, if just for a few minutes. Morty wondered what Rick would think if he could witness this… He’d make fun of Morty sure, but the boy grinned giddily to himself pretending that it’d make Rick jealous. After all, this was how _they_ first messed around too. Rick holding their cocks together, rubbing and touching and playing while Morty could only moan and giggle and huff warm little exhales of air as he begged for more. In a way, this was almost making Morty feel closer to Rick, and the swell of confidence came with a rush of endorphins. “I’m--are you almost-almost close? I’m gonna bust--gonna cum soon I think--”

The change in Jerry’s demeanor was immediate. Yes, his body was younger now and when he did indulge in a little masturbation here and there he lasted noticeably shorter than when he’d been a middle-aged, pudgy man, but he didn’t get to the edge as quickly as Morty apparently did and he panicked. This was the best time he’d had in months and it was about to be over? No!

“No – wait!” Instincts took over and he grabbed Morty’s hand by the wrist, yanking it away. Only after that did he realize just how shitty that must look and he bit his lip, looking around the room for something they could do to just make this moment last a little longer. Not a lot… just a little. Just enough to tide him over. Who knew when he would get to be close to someone else like this again? It could take months, or more…!

He stood up, extending a hand to help Morty up, and pulled him to the dingy leather sofa. He sometimes slept on this particular sofa when he and Beth had had a particularly bad fight – or he used to, before Rick had started enforcing strict rules regarding curfews and bedrooms. “We don’t have to hurry,” he rambled, “I locked the door so it’s not like anyone’s gonna come in, it’s not like they’ll wonder where we went so we can just take our time, alright? It’s-it’s-it’s better if you don’t… if there’s no rush…!” It was an awkward little walk to the sofa, both of them with their cocks jutting out, their underwear below their balls, but Jerry was too preoccupied to be self-conscious and sat down on the couch, patting the spot next to him. Morty had barely taken his seat before Jerry was clambering all over him, straddling him as if trying to keep him from leaving.

Well, there wasn’t really an ‘as if’ about it.

“Ouff--” was all Morty could manage before his father was on him, his legs straddled around Morty’s thighs, the couch rocking with their weight as they tried to shift around each other. Morty really had been ready to bust and was a little peeved his dad was dragging this out. But he tried to remind himself how sad his father had looked, how neglected he seemed, how little positive support he had in the household, and Morty beat down his own selfishness to go along with his dad’s movements. 

He was struck by how inexperienced he seemed -- Morty abruptly realized his expectation that adults were all as sexually advanced as Rick was an idiotic assumption. With his dad on top and their cocks pressed together again, Morty wrapped both hands together, cupping his palms around them again. His thoughts returned to Rick, as they often did whenever his dick was out. This was not unlike Rick right? After all, he was often being told to hold back his orgasm and not cum too quickly anyway. Morty’s relative eagerness to bust as soon as he felt ready was either something to be taken advantage of or something to be controlled, depending on Rick’s mood of the day. Yeah, he’d hold it in until his dad was ready--but not for his dad--for Rick.

Morty groaned at the thought. At being under Rick’s control even when he wasn’t present, even when Rick didn’t even realize it! His cock throbbed inside his hands and he fucked into the makeshift hole a little harder, squeezing himself against his dad. “Still--still feel good?”

Morty might be a little distracted, but Jerry was in the moment for both of them. All was forgotten – his shitty job, his fights with Beth, his desire to impress Rick just to get some morsels of human interaction and a semblance of tenderness. “Yeah!” he nodded eagerly, putting his hands on Morty’s shoulders and rolling his hips, his rhythm just a little off. “Yeah, you’re – this is, this is really good!” He looked down at Morty wide-eyed and grinning, his curls a little sweaty and sticking to his forehead, his face flushed with both the cry he’d had just now and the hot-and-heaviness of their current activities. Like a child in a candy store.

When Morty didn’t return his intense gaze, he faltered a little, but rather than descend into yet another pity spiral he instead leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Morty’s neck, burying his face in the crook and kissing, and kissing, and kissing – until he had to know, had to ask, had to make sure: “I’m doing – I’m doing good too, right? Tell me I’m good. I’m good, right? So you can – you don’t have to, if I’m – if it’s not – but I am, right?”

His thrusts grew more and more erratic, little grunts and groans accompanying his movements as he kept fucking Morty’s tight fist. He sat back a little again, looking almost feral in his neediness. “I can do whatever – if you want, I’m, I’ve been practicing with other stuff too,” he said, and for someone who was offering sexual services it really did sound an awful lot like begging. “Doesn’t… maybe not now but, but if you want me to-to-to blow you, I can do that! Or other things!” At this point in time, it seemed almost as if Morty could demand his dad lie on the floor to get pissed on and slapped in the face and he’d happily agree.

“Of course--da--I mean--I wouldn’t--I wouldn’t be ready to bust if you weren’t!” Morty leaned his head against his dad’s cheek pressed up against his neck. “I’ve been ready to cum for a while now, I wouldn’t have to if it wasn’t good--if _you_ weren’t good!”

And then that wave of clinginess from his father. Morty closed his eyes on a particularly good thrust and moaned, half out of the feeling and half out of the desire to disappear. Morty wasn’t used to this sort of open desire. His grandfather certainly wanted him, of that he was certain--but Rick had the easy conviction of someone who always got what he wanted--there was no begging from Rick Sanchez! “Yeah, uh--l-lets--” Morty groaned again, “I can-can only focus on right now, it’s too good--I have to focus or I’ll come too fast, it feels too good--” This wasn’t true, Morty was focusing all right, but not really on the present circumstances. He tried to match his father’s thrusts as much as he could, alternating his hands between stroking and squeezing, doing his level best to both hold his orgasm at bay and encourage one out of his father.

While he might be needy for social interactions, Jerry certainly wasn’t empathetic enough to see that Morty’s agreement to revisit this little tryst in the future was not particularly enthusiastic. He just heard _yeah_ and _it’s too good_ and couldn’t stop smiling, his heart racing, the praise going straight to both his heads.

His cock jerked in Morty’s firm grip, and he found himself subconsciously holding his breath, his abdominal muscles contracting as he tried to hold his orgasm at bay almost as desperately as Morty was, although for very different reasons. He found it more and more difficult, with Morty’s soft palm and encouraging little noises putting him in a more positive headspace than he’d been in ages. What a good, good kid. (And he’d helped to raise him, so in a way that was also _his_ achievement, right? Yep, definitely. Another stellar job by Jerry Smith.)

But even with Jerry’s intense need to make this awkward couch handjob last forever, he couldn’t control his over-excited teenage body for too long. His pert ass (still a little sensitive from the spanking Rick had given him as a supposed ‘reward’) clenched, unclenched, and the only thing he could do before he irrevocably spilled over the edge was to practically curl in on himself, making himself small, small enough for his head to fit under Morty’s chin. It was there, feeling safe and valued and happy (despite really only being one of those things, if that) that he finally came, thick spurts coating Morty’s hand, staining his shirt. “Thank you,” he managed. Manners maketh man, after all.

Morty came as soon as he felt his dad’s spunk explode into his hands, and sighed in relief. He had never been thanked for sex before, and wasn’t sure if ‘you’re welcome’ was the right reply, so he just smiled awkwardly, and began the task of shuffling out from beneath his dad. A task made harder by his father’s heavy, prone body that didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to get up. Finally scooting out, and rolling over onto the floor, Morty pulled his jeans back up, and tucked himself in before taking his shirt off and wiping his hands off. The heady rush of sleepiness and satisfaction that always washed over him post-cum was already beginning to settle in his limbs, but sleeping off this awkward afterglow in the den was simply _not_ an option. With just a few looks, Morty could tell this was beginning to mean way more to his dad than it meant to Morty, and the boy had a feeling that one family member obsessing over him in an inappropriate way was plenty! Best not provoke a crush in someone else!

Struggling to his feet, Morty balled up his shirt and adjusted the front of his jeans again. “I need to go clean up, dad. It’s--dinner was a while ago, and I have to finish reading a book for school b-before I go to bed…” It sounded like he was making excuses, which he was, and Morty felt guilty as he slowly began his exit. But his father looked lonely already on the couch, so Morty reached over, and just as dad did to him earlier, rubbed the brown curls on his head gently. “Y-you--that was really good. You were really good, so...thank you, too. I had fun.” His father’s insistence on giving him a hummer at some unspecified point in the future gave him pause, and Morty wondered for a moment if he should warn off his dad about becoming too wrapped up in his son, since Rick had already laid claim. But as Morty threaded his fingers through the curls he realized there was no gentle way to say that, and it would only hurt his delicate feelings.

So he removed his hand, and backed up from the couch, slowly sliding his feet toward the door. His dad’s bad self-esteem was a burden he didn’t want, and the desire to shower--almost as if to wash off the self-doubt that practically oozed out of his dad--was overwhelming. “I uh...I hope you feel better soon, dad. I really think maybe you shouldn’t look for...w-well, I guess, _that stuff_ from Rick…” Rick. Saying the name out loud was a sudden demeanor change in Morty. Being in charge was tiring--and frankly, lame. It seemed that this session had been illuminating for both Smith boys as Morty had a sudden newfound respect for Rick taking the reins in everything. “I’ll um… see you at family meeting in a couple hours?” Morty put his hand on the doorknob. Eager to leave but--somehow--needing to make absolutely sure his father was going to be okay first.

Jerry fidgeted a little on the sofa, feeling warm and heavy in a way that had as much to do with his climax as it did with the fact that Morty had stroked his hair so gently. “Alright, son,” he said, realizing that whatever moment they’d shared was now over and done with, so the sooner they went back to their normal way of dealing with each other the better. “You, uh, you’ve given me some stuff to think about. See you at the meeting.” That same awkward feeling that kept Morty from leaving just yet had sunk into Jerry’s stomach as well, and he looked at his son as if this teenage boy held some kind of key that could fix everything, that could open Jerry up and set everything that was clawing at him free.

A little too much to expect from his son. Jerry forced a smile and stood up, giving a little mock-salute. “Well, off you go! Gotta – gotta study, Morty. You know, adventures with Rick are fun and all, but they’re not a career so you gotta… gotta work on that GPA, get into a nice college, you know?” He waved Morty away, and only when the door had closed and he was alone in the den once more did he sit down at his usual seat behind the computer.

It was perfectly normal to feel a little guilty and a little down after an orgasm. Everyone knew that. What he had just done had been absolutely fine and it was a good thing he’d done it, too. There was no way this would bite him in the ass in any conceivable way, and certainly it was the first step on Jerry Smith’s long-awaited path to self-discovery and personal betterment. Yes, he’d done pretty well! Even Morty had said so. So he deserved a little reward, right?

He fired up Minesweeper, and didn’t stop playing until it was time for the family meeting.

As for Morty, he clambered up the stairs two at a time, shirtless, and undoubtedly smelling like spunk, reaching the bathroom in record time and closing the door securely after himself. He felt good that he had helped his dad feel better, but felt strange at needy way his dad had looked at him as he made his escape. Hopefully his dad wouldn’t wear that face around Rick because heaven knows what would come of that. And speaking of Rick, Morty stripped off the rest of his clothes and finding his cell phone in one of his pockets, fired off a text to Rick.

_can we adventure soon pls? wanna get out of the house for a bit_

It’d been a while since he requested an adventure rather than just being dragged along on one, so Morty sent the text with a bit of trepidation. There was no telling what sort of weird or dangerous activity they might get up to, but at least it was a way to avoid the house for a little bit and put some distance between himself and the relatively tender episode of frottage with his father. Rick wasn’t often a haven of safety, but any refuge in a storm, right?

And, a perfect contrast to Jerry’s on-the-nose desperation and neediness, Rick only responded hours later, long after the family meeting.

_alright alright keep it in ur pants_


	15. Off the Beaten Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Morty and a high-stakes heist adventure! What could go wrong? (everything.)

Rick might have agreed to Morty’s request, but Rick Sanchez never did anything just because someone else had told him to. It was then several days before he showed up at Morty’s school, acting every bit as if it was just a coincidence that he was taking Morty out a few days after being asked to.

As usual, while he had no trouble barging in on Morty at school, he at least had the good manners not to drag him straight out of class. Instead, he all but ambushed his grandson right as he was leaving the bathroom. “Morty, what – what was taking you so long in there? We gotta – I, I need you to come with me, Morty.” He took a firm hold of his grandson’s upper arm and dragged him along like a sack of potatoes, firing a portal at the wall without deigning to explain just where they were going and what they would be doing there.

Right before they walked through, however, he paused and turned around, fixing Morty with a stern frown. “Hey, I know we usually just get up to some – to, to a bunch of wacky-ass hijinks and just g-g-general high, high-concept sci-fi shit, but I’m gonna need you to act like you were brought up instead of dragged up during this one, alright? Gotta, gotta show some manners.”  
  
With that mysterious instruction he finally pulled Morty through the portal, where they found themselves in what looked to be some sort of fancy hotel of sorts: high ceilings with delicate moulding and millwork, shimmering chandeliers of multi-colored gemstones, velvety soft and immaculately clean carpets, and everywhere there were alien lifeforms carrying suitcases, conversing with each other with a drink in their hand (or tentacle, or tail).

Despite the sophisticated atmosphere (and his command to Morty), Rick didn’t seem to be taking any pains not to stick out like an exceptionally boorish thumb. He pulled Morty with him to the reception desk and slapped his hand down onto the dark wood. “Yeah, I’ve got - there’s a reservation under, under Cuauhtémoc,” he said.

The receptionist, a gaunt, deep blue woman with a face like an angelfish glanced at Morty, and then at Rick. “I’m afraid we’ve got a dress code,” she said with a smile that betrayed both decades worth of customer service training and a deep, deep disdain for customers in general and Rick and Morty in particular. “Formalwear only, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah?” Rick gestured at his lab coat. “This is formalwear where I’m from, alright. Fuck-fucking black tie up in here. It’s fashion. Read a magazine sometime.”

The receptionist narrowed her eyes and now looked at Morty. “What about this one?” she asked.

Rick looked next to him as if only just noticing Morty. “Uh, I-I-I guess – maybe you’ve got a change of clothes for him?”

Tut-tutting, the woman seemed to be pulling up Rick’s reservation – and her attitude changed dramatically. “Oh! Oh. I see. My apologies, I didn’t realize… I’m sure we’ve got something for companion!” She disappeared inside a backroom, and returned with what looked almost exactly like a glue gun. “There you go. Please return it when you’re checking out.”  
  
“Sure, sure,” Rick said, grabbing the gun and dragging Morty into the nearest bathroom, which he promptly locked behind them. “Alright, Morty. Strip.”

One would think after having been naked in front of Rick countless times, and naked in front of his family at least a few dozen times, and even naked in front of a crowd at least once, that Morty would be more comfortable with nudity. Despite this, Morty still felt the need to half turn in modesty when he began to shrug out of his shirt.

When he had texted that request to Rick, in all honesty Morty had been hoping for kind of a daring, action-packed, maybe even a little whacky adventure. Something he could use as an outlet. And while he had been in plenty of laser battles and alien combat situations while dressed in formal wear, the fancy-schmancy setting seemed like the beginning of a rather tame outing. “Jeez, r-real, reeeeal fancy place I guess, huh?” Dropping his shirt on the sink counter, Morty bent and unlaced his shoes, stepping out of them and then, after pushing his jeans down, kicking them off. He attempted to catch them mid-air but whiffed, so he let them sit on the floor as he took off his socks one by one and then paused with his thumbs on the waistband of his briefs. He glanced at Rick, (well, Rick’s chest, it was always so hard to meet his eyes when he was unclothed) and turning fully, slid the thin fabric down his legs until they pooled at his feet.

Rick was usually quite leery when Morty undressed, but he seemed preoccupied now. As Morty shed his clothes, he was knocking on the tiles, checking the light fixtures, and finally grabbed what looked like a small remote from his pocket that had a single button on it, which he pressed.  
  
Almost immediately, a dull _poof_ sounded from the cistern of the toilet. “Fucking knew it,” Rick said, and he finally seemed to relax a little, sitting down on the toilet bowl and gesturing towards Morty with the glue gun the receptionist had handed him. “Yeah, real fancy,” he said. “Fucking – fucking Borgia-style fancy, Morty. This place is-is-is...” He paused, letting his gaze travel down Morty’s body, seemingly distracted from his rant. Whether he approved or not remained unclear, as he kept his facial expressions entirely in check.   
  
Continuing his bit of exposition as if Morty wasn’t still stark naked, he said: “I heard through the grapevine that the Duchess of Elglorp is staying here and – and you don’t know this, Morty, but that particular post comes with, with–” He gestured at his chest, his eyes glazing over with undisguised greed. “A livery collar like you’ve never  _seen_ , Morty. Just – all sorts of rare shit up in there, things they dug up from mines that – that were on planets that imploded millennia ago, just real choice shit.” He sighed. “But getting – getting close is the hard part, Morty, it’s all fucking kamikaze bodyguards and just – just crazy reliable, crazy expendable servants. We gotta play this one a little...” He looked Morty in the eye, and the way he finished that sentence made it clear he’d only just realized that he might have made a mistake: “...a little smarter.”

At this, he pointed the gun at Morty and fired. Almost immediately, shimmering, opalescent strings shot from the tip of the gun to wind around Morty’s torso and limbs. For a moment it looked almost as if Morty had been caught in some giant arachnid’s web, but then the color of the material shifted into something darker, then something lighter, until it seemed the fabric decided on its own destiny and solidified into a white tux. Or something that looked like one, at least – Rick ran a hand down Morty’s chest, clicking his tongue. “Seamless? She couldn’t even spring for the good stuff? Makes you wonder what you – what it is you’re paying for, huh, Morty?”

He got up and carelessly tossed the gun into the bin. “Won’t need that,” he said. “Now grandpa’s gonna take care of some business. What I need you to do is to – to see if you can maybe get an in with her entourage, alright? Just, ugh – just see if you can bat your lashes at a page boy or whatever, alright?” He patted Morty on the head, then seemingly thought against it, and pinched his cheek instead – just a little too hard to be sweet. “And behave. This – this is gonna depend on us fitting in with this crowd, Morty. So I’mma need you to be on your best behavior.”

“Oh-kayyyy--” Morty grimaced at the cheek pinch and pulled away, rubbing his face as he glared at Rick. The suit he was wearing might’ve been less-than-impressive to Rick, but by Morty’s standards, this might’ve been the best suit he’d ever worn. The fabric was velvet-soft and hugged him perfectly, while the cut of the suit flattered his slim figure, almost making him look older. Judging by the way Rick’s eyes followed him as he moved spoke to how nice it looked too.

A year or two ago, Morty would’ve been nervous by Rick’s directions, but he was quickly picking up Rick’s devil-may-care attitude, and rubbing elbows with dumb rich kids didn’t sound too bad. Morty did raise an eyebrow at Rick’s attire--how in the world was he planning to move about surreptitiously in a dirty labcoat and tennis shoes was anyone’s guess, but Morty wasn’t here to think. He was here to help. Combing his hair back with his hands to smooth some of the wayward curls, Morty nodded at Rick, “L-lead the way.”

They left the bathroom together, but within seconds, Rick had pushed Morty toward the direction of an ornate hallway that lead off somewhere else as he ducked into the shadows himself and disappeared. Left to his own devices, Morty scurried down the hallway, not sure what else to do, and found himself in a brightly lit ballroom. Multi-tier chandeliers threw sparkling, speckled light down on the assembled crowd of upper class alien folk. A waiter walked by with a tray of glasses, each filled with something green and bubbling, so Morty grabbed one to blend in, and then quickly merged into the crowd. Everyone was talking about the Duchess--from her diet, to her planned itinerary here at the hotel, to the husband she consumed after her traditional Elglorpish wedding, and whom she might choose to consume at her eventual coronation. This last point offered Morty a something to latch on to, and he pounced.

“It really  _should_  b-be a human. S-someone of the-of the standing of-” Morty cleared his throat to steady himself, “Of the Duchess’ standing should choose a really unique race for the coronation.”

A young-looking alien with bright pink skin and antler-like appendages above his eyes tilted his head at Morty. “A human? Aren’t those rare around here?”

Morty shrugged, pretended to sip his drink, but only got as far as letting it touch his lips before he had to rip it away--a weird burning sensation left tingling on his upper lip-- “W-well sure, but y-you know, they taste in-incredible, and the Duchess deserves something extraordinary, right?”

A chorus of ‘oh yes’ followed his statement, and Morty discovered he was surrounded by a group of aliens, several of which had interesting-looking collars of their own. Perfect.

While Morty was rubbing elbows with the crème de la crème of intergalactic high society, Rick was having a decidedly less pleasant time. Setting up an escape route after grabbing what he came for proved difficult – the hotel was guarded like a vault, and the rooms and corridors he’d looked at when preparing for this little mission were all useless. It was tempting enough to just blast his way through the crowd or just fly his spaceship into the Duchess herself and snatch the necklace off of her mangled body, but the thought of the richest woman in this arm of the galaxy self-destructing (as Elglorpians were wont to do) while wearing something that could power at least seven of the items on his ‘one day, with the proper resources’ wish list… that wasn’t a thought Rick wanted to entertain.

(Besides, now that he was laying into his family members on the regular because they’d been rude to him or left dishes in the sink or put themselves or one another in danger or just because he damn well felt like it – now that semi-regular spankings were a part of his life as much as of his family’s, he found himself just ever so slightly less volatile and violent.)

Snooping around the hotel, he proceeded with his soon-to-be best-laid plans. Hopefully Morty wasn’t fucking things up too badly for the both of them. But hopefully he wasn’t being too good either… that would, in a way, be an even bigger shame.

The young alien that had asked Morty about humans hung back a little as Morty entertained the crowd with further theories about the health benefits of anthropophagy, but was clearly engrossed. Once some of the crowd members had moved on to new circles and new cliques, he stayed behind, running his long fingers over his antlers.

“Pardon me,” he said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but… _you’re_  a human, aren’t you?” The antlers receded a little to lie flush against his forehead. “I’ve seen pictures, and you sort of look like one.” A sheepish little grin. “Less ugly though. Than in the pictures, I mean.”

A chill ran down Morty’s spine but he forced a friendly smile and winked at his new alien ‘friend.’ “Yep, I’m a--a human all right!” Now _this_  was dangerous. In fact, the pure brashness of what he was doing turned him on a little--admitting he was a human after just waxing eloquent about how delicious and scrumptious they were! But, Morty reasoned, wasn’t this the perfect way to get close to the Duchess? “Oh, uhh, and thank you, humans can be pretty weird looking!” Morty internally chuckled at this statement, given that among the random collection of aliens he had just been in the midst of, one of them had  _definitely_  been a giant walking pimple, so human aesthetics were really nothing to comment on.

Morty lifted his glass to his lips out of habit, remembering in the nick of time that it burned him, and lowered his hand. “So, have you had the honor of meeting the Duchess? I’m uh--in awe of her, really--” Jeez, what is one supposed to say about royalty? His heart was pounding a bit, taking charge was usually Rick’s forte, but this is what Rick asked him to do, right? And while Morty wasn’t naive enough to think that just because an alien was cute meant they were harmless, this alien was pretty darn cute. He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice, trying to flirt just a little bit to see what information this alien might have. “I wonder what she’s like…?”

The alien shuddered a little when Morty leaned in, and glanced around. “I’m not really supposed to talk about it,” he whispered, followed by a quick curtsy. “But you’re looking at the Second Official Ducal Cloaca Attendant!” He smiled, glancing up at Morty from below his antlers. “I’m in charge of gathering up her effluvia so it can be purified and distributed. If I keep doing a good enough job, I might get a title too! But for now I’m just a second attendant. Um, you can call me Bisca, if you want. Before I get that title at least.” He bared his teeth in a proper grin now, short, sharp little things. “Then it’ll be Lord Bisca to you.”

He plucked Morty’s glass out of his hand, and leaned in conspiratorially, mumbling from behind his hand: “And this is just between you and me, but if you want to fit in with this crowd you might want to start by not poisoning yourself. You don’t drink the Duchess’s elixir neat, dummy. You’ve got to neutralize it.” He pursed his lips, and spat into the long-stemmed glass, a few drops of iridescent liquid. If he thought this was gross he certainly didn’t let it on, and he handed the glass back to Morty with a smirk. “If you didn’t know _that_  you’re going to have some real trouble during dinner.” Glancing at the clock, he pretended to be shocked and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Only an hour! Oh my. I guess I’ll have to subject you to my express etiquette lesson. Of course the price is a little steep…!”

“Damn, that-that obvious, huh?” Morty felt his face heating up and wondered if he was that transparent to Bisca was it even worth continuing to lie? He considered the way the sharp little toothy smile gleamed in the chandelier light and decided yes, better keep lying as best as you can. “I’m just--such a fan, I had to try and sneak in to catch a glimpse…” At least it didn’t seem like Bisca would be snitching anytime soon; rather, he was helping Morty! Or offering to help anyway. It was tempting to try out his new drink now that it had been ‘neutralized’ but many an after-school special about drugged drinks danced through his mind and he changed his mind.

“I guess,” Morty grinned, “--if anyone c-can teach me some manners it’s the Second Official Ducal Cloaca Attendant, huh?” Gosh, Bisca really was cute, the longer Morty stared at him the more he thought so. He leaned in a little closer, keeping his voice low--it seemed like this was a verboten conversation they were having, “I don’t have any schmeckles with me, and I wouldn’t ask someone who’s gonna be a Lord someday to do anything for free...so…” He quirked the side of his mouth up, “Maybe there’s another way I can pay?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he felt his face heat up even more and could’ve kicked himself for blushing so goddamn much. If only he was as smooth and suave as Rick! Hopefully bashful enthusiasm was at least a little bit cute.

The other boy’s antlers, which had remained pressed against his forehead, now moved forward. “Hey, are you alright? You changed color,” Bisca said, sounding a little worried and pressing the back of his hand against Morty’s cheek. When Morty didn’t seem to be in immediate distresses, he relaxed a little. “You humans have such messed up bodies,” he said. “I don’t believe for a second there’s anything delicious about you.” Here he took Morty’s hand, and started to lead him to the dining room – but not before looking over his shoulder and adding a cheeky: “Or maybe there’s something tasty about _some_ of you.”

The dining room was evidently still closed, but Bisca haughtily addressed the maître d’ and seemed to have a position in the Duchess’s retinue that held enough sway, because the alien rolled his eyes and removed the velvet cord that had closed the room off and allowed the two to pass.

In the dining hall (equally high ceilings, the same shimmery light, heavy curtains lining the walls) the tables had been arranged into a strange pyramid shape. At the top stood a table that would surely only seat one person, with gutters running from underneath the table down the pyramid. “The cloaca,” Bisca helpfully explained, as if that clarified anything at all, and (still holding Morty’s hand firmly, his skin almost artificially smooth and a little warmer than the average human body temperature) led Morty up a small staircase until they arrived at a table on the third-highest tier of the pyramid. Despite the general strangeness of the setting, the plates and cutlery looked entirely plain – a bigger plate, a smaller plate, four glasses, five forks, six knives, and a spoon. “Isn’t it wild?” Bisca said all the same, indicating the set-up. “So chic!”  
  
Before sitting down himself, he pulled out Morty’s chair, bowing again. “There you go, uh – hey, you didn’t even tell me your name yet!” Before Morty could answer, he slid onto the chair next to Morty and almost pressed his cheek against Morty’s. “You can whisper it in my ear.”

Morty shivered when Bisca had taken his hand, and happily held on as he was lead into the dining room and then up to the table. And now as he sat right beside him, Morty couldn’t refrain from the smallest of little gasps that caught in his throat as Bisca, now extremely close, gazed at him with those big glittery eyes and asked for his name. Morty’s lips automatically formed into a tight line to pronounce the ‘m’ of his name, but he stopped suddenly. Was he being too trusting? Was this a trap? They were alone in the dining room and Morty hadn’t noticed anything suspicious since they’d entered.

What would his real name reveal anyway? People everywhere in the universe knew who Rick Sanchez was, did Morty’s name make a similar impression? Or any impression at all? But still, this was supposed to be a clandestine mission right? So codenames? Sure he could come up with a codename. In the seconds that passed, Morty realized he was not creative enough to come up with a codename. Fine, what was a nickname his parents called him? What was something at school he was known by? Anything--anything--he had been too quiet for too long-- “Honey.”

Fuck, he had been thinking about his mom calling him honey whenever he got home from school, and the endearment had somehow just jumped out. To cover his alarm, Morty chuckled into the offered ear, “I’m not gonna ever be a Lord, so you can always just call me Honey.”

If Bisca was aware that this was a (poorly devised) pseudonym, it didn’t show at all on his face which broke into an expression of pure delight. “That’s a lovely name. That doesn’t even _need_  a title, Honey!” They were interrupted by a few waiters shuffling into the room carrying various pitchers. Bisca sat up a little straighter, suddenly all business. “Oh, right. We’re on a schedule here. I won’t have time to run through this with you more than once, so you’ll have to pay close attention. Fortunately for you, I’ve developed a teaching method that leaves pupils _ever_ so motivated.” This was accompanied by a little wink (and a cough from one of the waiters that might have been just a cough… and maybe not).

One of the other waiters (a six-armed, droopy-faced, top-heavy creature) had glided up the stairs and now placed several pitchers on their table. Bisca offered the alien a dazzling smile which went entirely ignored and picked up a pitcher containing a liquid the exact blue of pool water. Pouring Morty a glass, he said: “Drink this. It’s nothing a carbon-based lifeform can’t handle. Trust me, alright?” To perhaps inspire this trust, he fixed himself a glass and downed it in one. “See, Honey? Harmless. You’ll need to get at least three glasses inside you right now if you want to get through this dinner alright.”  
  
Unexpectedly, he put a slender hand on Morty’s thigh under the tablecloth. “Besides,” he said in a sing-songy voice, “good pupils get rewarded.” His hand slid up just a little. “Even if they do wear cheap suits. Or perhaps especially.”

The hand on his thigh might as well have been made out of fire, Morty felt such heat. Bisca was being so kind, and really seemed genuine, and after all had offered to help completely unprompted… Morty wondered where Rick was and what was taking so long as he reached forward and grasped the thin stem of his glass. He swirled the liquid within like he was used to seeing his mom do, and sniffed it. Oh God, this was definitely, positively going to be some sleeping agent right? Or something worse?

But the teenager didn't see what else he could do, and besides, luck favors the brave. Or was it the prepared? He lifted the glass to his lips, and with a final glance at Bisca beside him, smoothly downed his drink in a few swallows. There was a hint of something familiar in the giant purple eyes that were watching him--and the way he had coyly referred to his method of ‘motivation’ actually had Morty clenching his legs a bit. That sort of language was too similar to the domineering nonsense Rick liked to prattle about right before disciplining someone, and Morty tried to put the thought out of his mind so he could focus. The drink wasn't unpleasant, rather refreshing actually and made his mouth tingle even after it had disappeared down his throat. He smiled at Bisca as he put his glass back down.

“I don't normally accept strange drinks, b-but I _do_ want to be a good pupil after all…”

“You’re the best pupil I’ve ever had,” cooed Bisca, and promptly refilled Morty’s glass. More waiters were pouring into the room now, putting platters on some of the tables and terrines on others. What looked like some sort of violin quartet entered the room and started setting up in a corner. Bisca glanced at these proceedings, and nodded encouragingly at Morty. “Two more. I know this is all… not something you’d be doing on Earth, but I really am trying to help you fit in.” His hand travelled even further now, his touch so light it was more an implication than anything else – at least until his fingertips curled around the bulge in Morty’s pants, and he gasped a little in surprise. “External?” he said. “That’s so exotic.” And although it was evidently not physiologically possible for Bisca to blush, his antlers stiffened, followed by him trying to nonchalantly brush them back against his forehead (and failing).

While Morty was enjoying himself with a member of the Duchess’s retinue, Rick was covered in dust and grime. Clearly the custodial staff of this goddamn hotel had zero interest in keeping anything other than the bare minimum of the place clean, and every space that didn’t regularly have guests in it was filthy. “Overpriced shithole,” he grumbled, crawling through the tight space in which he was currently placing several devices about the shape and size of hockey pucks. Sticking them against the wall, Rick made his way down the cramped passage, leaving a trail of softly blinking green lights behind him. Hopefully Morty was struggling as much as he was, or he’d be pissed!

Rather, Morty was having a grand time. He had drank his second glass, and was watching Bisca pour number three as his pink companion regaled him with gossip and blinked those pretty purple eyes at him. The hand on his crotch hadn't moved--not that he was complaining, and after hearing the happily surprised remark about his package being external, Morty was endlessly curious about his new friend’s genetalia.

“Y’know, on Earth I'd be pretty certain that uh, with all these drinks you're trying to get me into trouble.” Morty confided, as he lifted his glass a third time. He lowered it, suddenly hoping he didn't offend and touched Bisca’s elbow either his free hand, “Not that y-you seem suspicious you're just--” he chewed the corner of his lip, “You're just so pretty I wouldn't think I'd have a chance to even talk to you.”

A meek compliment, but Morty delivered it earnestly, before downing his final glass and placing it back on the table. Fragrant smells from the food began to waft through the banquet hall and Morty looked about self-consciously. “And speaking of trouble, y-you won't get into any by helping me, will you? I hope I'm not keeping you from anything…”

Bisca had apparently been raised well enough to demurely cast his eyes down at the compliment, but when Morty drew his attention to the increase in action in not only the dining hall, but the corridor in which people were waiting until it was time to be seated as well, he suddenly looked a lot more alert. “No, don’t worry,” he said. “My only duties to the Duchess are during her morning cleanse. But it might look a little suspicious if we’re already sitting here when everyone’s coming in.” He surveyed the waiters, none of which seemed particularly interested in the two of them, and grinned a little wickedly. “We can make our appearance later,” he said, “when there are too many people in here for anyone to notice two more popping up…”  
  
He slithered down his chair, under the table, where he gave Morty a teasing (or was that inviting?) squeeze on his ankle before shifting back to create room. The tables on this particular platform were not as large as those further down below (seating perhaps six, eight people) which made it a cozy little hideaway, the gemstone-encrusted chandeliers and their colorful light only barely permeating the heavy damask tablecloth. Even in the muted light, Bisca’s eyes still shone – perhaps even moreso now.   
  
“It’s really a shame you didn’t spring for a fancier bodysuit,” he said. “This one doesn’t even have a separate top and bottom. I guess yours isn’t coming off.” He sat back, leaning on his elbows, and spread his legs a little – what had looked like a dress was now revealed to be more of a tunic with a long split on each side. “Whatever will we do?”

Beneath the table, with just a bit of rosy, dim light to illuminate the two, Morty felt at once thrilled and naughty. Obviously he was aware it was incredibly bad form to go off and fuck an adorably sexy stranger beneath a table… But how often did opportunities like this present themselves!? Morty grasped himself and laughed softly as he drew a little closer to Bisca. “I have… A few ideas… M-maybe more than a few…”

Morty looked at the antlers that were springing up again on Bisca’s head and worried his bottom lip with his teeth. Visions of him using them as handles while he face fucked the Second Official Ducal Cloaca Attendant’s pretty little toothy mouth flashed through his head. Scooting closer still until he was seated entirely between Bisca’s spread legs, Morty lifted his hand up and with a feather light touch, brushed from the pointed chin, up the side of the narrow jaw toward the right antler. “Can I touch here?”

Despite his earlier bravado and the way he’d positioned himself as somewhat of a mentor, this clearly caught Bisca off-guard, and his mouth hung open as he tried to regain his composure. The antler Morty had almost touched didn’t need to think about its reaction, however – the moment Morty’s finger approached the base it went entirely rigid, before curling ever so slightly in Morty’s direction. “That’s definitely not according to the ducal etiquette guide,” he muttered, but even though the confident grin had disappeared off of his face it was obvious he absolutely did not mind this stranger in a strange land who was suddenly so forward. Not if the way he opened his legs a little wider was anything to go by.

From the direction of the entrance, a low, humming tone sounded, followed by the chatter that had continued in the backgrounding rising in volume. The maître d’ that Bisca had convinced earlier to let the two of them in now raised his voice, and Bisca looked to the side before shrugging. “He’s announcing names as they go in. They’ll start at the bottom anyway.” His upper lip curled up salaciously. “Maybe you should do the same?”

Underneath the dining hall (and, indeed, in the walls), dozens upon dozens of green lights blinked once more before they went dark altogether. A sweaty, grimy Rick Sanchez checked his watch, and grimaced. He’d been planning to pick up Morty before all this kicked off. He’d have to find him later. Might be wise to let him know, though… if only Morty had just let him implant that damn communicator chip. _I’m not a cat, Rick; I don’t wanna hear your voice all the time, Rick; this is just gonna turn me into a car again, I just know it, Rick_  – yeah, whatever! Now he could only bank on the fact that Morty would be able to take care of himself while he got in position. Fortunately the kid usually managed to keep away from trouble. Not feeling entirely relieved by that thought, Rick crawled on, getting into position.

Bisca’s bold suggestion prompted a genuine laugh from Morty and he matched the flirtatious grin of his partner. “Oooh, I see--” Moving his hand, Morty palmed Bisca’s chest and drew his hand down and diagonal. The edge of one slit was against his hip, and here Morty tucked his forefinger and with as much grace as he could manage, flipped back part of the fabric. More smooth, pink skin greeted him, although closer to the torso, Bisca’s skin took on a bit of a darker, fuchsia hue. His groin was darker still, and a deep red slit was at the center of where his legs met.

Now this was exotic, fuck a regular ole’ human dick! Morty fondled himself a little harder, feeling his cock twitch in his clothes as he stretched his fingertips toward Bisca’s slit and brushed his thumb against its length. A shiver ran through Bisca and a little noise not unlike a mewl escaped his mouth before he could stop it. Morty grinned and brushed gently again, spotting the tip of something beginning to just barely crest through the taut flaps of skin. Wanting to get a closer look, Morty crouched down more, laying on his stomach, moving his legs out behind him, and bringing his other hand up to gently brace itself against Bisca’s thigh. “Fuck, you even   _smell_   pretty…” With more gentle strokes, the violet head of an extremely pointy cock pushed through, accompanied by fragrant, slightly glowing fluid that oozed from the slit and coated the appendage as it made its appearance. “Wow, I--” Morty stopped midsentence as a second bulge began to grow beneath the first, and as he gazed at it, a second, equally pointy, just slightly thicker second dick joined the first.

Morty’s mouth tingled not unlike before from the blue liquid, and he groaned in the back of his throat. Two beautiful alien cocks, alllllllll for Morty! He grasped the first, and licking his lips, kissed the second, before taking the head in his mouth. Gosh, too bad Rick hadn't arrived yet!

Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, Bisca tried to stifle a yelp as the lowest-ranking seats (far, far below them) started to fill up. “You humans have such an oral fixation,” he said, but with his eyes half-lidded he seemed to be quite enjoying reaping the benefits of this human trait. His primary cock, the thick appendage currently in Morty’s mouth, seemed to have a few tricks up its sleeve (or slit) and as Morty stroked the underside of it with the tip of his tongue, it curled around Morty’s tongue in turn. Gently, of course – but insistently all the same.  
  
The smaller cock, not to be outdone, wrapped itself around Morty’s thumb and gave a little squeeze, coating it with the same fresh, almost floral-scented lubricant that was now slowly sliding down Bisca’s perineum. “Ah, _Honey_ ,” Bisca sighed, finally giving in and just lying back, his fingers winding through Morty’s curls with extraordinary tenderness (as if Morty’s hair had the same properties his antlers apparently did). “I’ll have to keep you on when I get that lordship.” He bucked up a little, his cocks moving individually but in a perfect rhythm, the one sliding against Morty’s tongue and testing his gag reflex with just the tiniest, cheekiest tip, the other gripping Morty’s thumb even more firmly now, almost hard enough to be uncomfortable – as if trying to provoke Morty into returning the favor. “You can be the most prized, most exotic member of my retinue, Honey,” he continued breathlessly. “First Official Lordly Cock Attendant. And Second.”

From the way they both gripped Morty’s various parts a little tighter, it seemed the First and Second Cock absolutely agreed.

Rick was having a decidedly less fun time. His preparations now mostly in place, he tried to determine if he was in the right place to do what he had come here to do. And where the hell was Morty? This thing was gonna kick off in a few minutes from the sounds of it. He peeked through the fabric hiding him. It looked like the fifth-highest tier was starting to fill up. Three more, then… and then the Duchess herself. He licked his lips.

“First  _and_  Second, huh?” Morty teased, before going right back down on delicious purple dick. The dick curling around his hand was stronger than he would've assumed, and he gripped the prehensile cock harder, putting some real strength behind his fist, and pumping smoothly, matching the rhythm of Bisca’s undulating hips. Where earlier he had been annoyed with the name he chose, hearing Bisca prettily gasp ‘Honey’ over and over was amazing. Almost like they were boyfriends. Morty hummed at the thought; Bisca would be a real fucking cutie of a boyfriend…

The noise of party goers and guests rose higher and higher until Morty actually felt comfortable letting a few moans eek out as he deep throated a very mischievous cock and used both hands to play with the second. He spared a passing thought for Rick which amounted to: where the heck is that old fart? But the sounds Bisca was making, the floral, sticky sweetness on his tongue, the warm, moist heat from their trapped breath beneath the tablecloth and his own throbbing cock all demanded his immediate attention. One hand left its position and snuck up the front of Bisca’s tunic, as Morty groped him lazily, enjoying the unique experience of exploring an alien's body. It wasn't fair that he couldn't take off his pants, but Morty wasn't above a bit of unrequited service and happily pushed himself even further down the pulsing, twitching appendage.

Bisca, having abandoned any and all semblance of his earlier courtly decorum, was now rolling his hips to meet Morty’s eager mouth more and more insistently. What was more, he was indulging in that shameful act that no Elglorpian would be caught dead partaking in around another Elglorpian… but his Honey was wonderfully, ignorantly human, so why the hell not? He ran his fingers along his own antlers, rubbing them insistently. This seemed distracting enough that both of his cocks stuttered a little, and he opened his eyes (which had drifted blissfully shut) to look down at Morty. “That’s it, Hon–” But there he paused, as a not particularly pretty (but elegant in its smugness) smirk appeared on his face. “I suppose you wouldn’t just be my Honey then, would you? You’d be my servant.” He pushed his hips up a little. “I’ll allow you the privilege of fingering your Lord’s slit,” he whispered. “Be good, and I might – I might –”

As Bisca was apparently trying to come up with some sort of reward that might actually appeal to (and not kill) a non-Elglorpian partner, the tier directly below the two utterly distracted boys had now filled up, and the third-highest tier was starting to receive its guests. The first pair of feet that appeared below the tablecloth startled Bisca, and his antlers retreated back so hastily they almost left an imprint in the supple skin of his face. He recovered quickly enough. “Don’t you dare stop!” he commanded, but even with this attempt at newfound imperiality, he still couldn’t help but pet Morty’s hair, and he added: “The Duchess takes ages to ascend to the platform, we’ve got a little while. But I suppose you’ll have to go unattended to…”

Rick was finding what Bisca already knew: the third tier and second tier filled up relatively quickly (being much smaller than the lower ones), and although the violin quartet immediately launched into a dramatic aria that seemed to signal the arrival of the woman of the hour, no one arrived just yet. But from in the distance, the sound of many feet grew louder and louder, until finally she appeared in the doorway.  
  
The Duchess, for all intents and purposes, looked like a different species than her Elglorpian constituents. She was large, large enough that the hammock litter she was carried in on had to be supported by sixteen beefy-looking Elglorpians. Her mouth was too wide, her teeth too long, and her body was covered in deep grooves, like a twisted kind of shar pei. Her most beautiful features (or, to non Elglorpians, her only palatable ones) were her eyes, which shone as brightly as if there was a light source behind them.   
  
The crowd erupted into applause, but Rick had no eyes for the spectacle, not for the dancers that had come in with the Duchess and were not contorting their bodies to portray the Duchess’s various achievements, not for the chefs bringing out the food, not for the other musicians that had joined the original violin quartet to start on a war-like waltz. The only thing he could see was the Duchess’s necklace. The livery collar that came with her title. A long, thick band of a pitch black precious metal set with stones, glowing, dull, cracked, smooth, polished, rough, all colors and gradients like a fever dream rainbow. He was so fucking close he could  _taste_  it. Just a little longer…

Morty’s fingers, slick with Bisca’s fluid tickled his slit with a come hither motion, and when Bisca didn't pull away, Morty inserted them to the first knuckle. Immediately applause rang out in the banquet hall. Morty would've laughed at the timing had his mouth been free, so he hummed against the warm cock in his mouth, feeling drool drip down his chin onto the floor. Bisca’s snooty attitude was still pretty cute, although Morty had to roll his eyes at the demands. It really seemed like he attracted a certain type of person, of which Rick must be the first and Bisca would probably not be the last.

Beneath his ministrations, Bisca was trembling, his tunic wrinkled, a widening pool of fluid beneath his ass, a beautiful mess of hoity-toity dignitary coming apart at the seams from a blow job. Abruptly, the table shook, and the heavy sounds of slow, painstaking footsteps began at the bottom and drew closer. Morty was enjoying himself, but time was of the essence, and so he increased the pace with which he sucked, pumped and fingered, completely determined to see what Bisca looked like in the throes of an orgasm. He lifted his gaze to stare intensely at Bisca, wondering what else he could do to increase the sensations enough to satisfy an alien form he had no practice with.

An idea occurred to him, and Morty decided to give Bisca a true hummer. Taking a deep breath, Morty hummed loudly through his nose, vibrating his lips and throat around Bisca’s dick. The ambient noise covered their sounds, and Morty cheekily winked up at the pink boy above him.

There was no way Bisca could keep it together even remotely once Morty really started pulling out all the stops. His hypersensitive slit clenched down on Morty’s invading fingers, and the cock still in Morty’s mouth seemed to grow longer, the tip extending further down his throat after having learned (‘learned’?) just how far it could go without triggering Morty’s gag reflex. The cock Morty was jacking off seemed to probe around as if looking for something, but didn’t seem to find whatever it was – it shrank down a little, but as its base grew thinner Bisca’s other cock only increased in girth.

“Where did you learn all this?” Bisca moaned, fingering his own antlers once more as his hips lifted off of the ground, his muscular ass taut and tight. “God, forget about making you an Attendant, I-I-I should mar–”

Several things happened at once.

The Duchess took her seat, sinking down heavily on the throne that had belonged to her mother, her grandmother, all the way back to the inception of the Elglorpian matriarchy. The throne sighed and creaked underneath her but bore her weight, and the Duchess raised one of her arms to wave.

Bisca, now fully gone, came. His eyes went wide first, and the light that had dimly glittered in them now shone much, much brighter, drawing some attention from those seated at the table. The cock in Morty’s mouth, now twice its original thickness, shot further down Morty’s throat, the tip of it roughly where Morty’s adam’s apple was – and when it got there, it spasmed once, twice, and secreted yet more of the thick, flowery lubricant, sending it sliding down straight into Morty’s stomach.

And Rick Sanchez pushed a button, which was followed by the same soft  _poof_  he’d caused in the bathroom, which itself was followed by a zapping sort of noise – and then the room rapidly filled with a thick, sour-smelling fog.

If Bisca’s precum tasted slightly like flowers, his actual cum was like getting hit in the mouth with a rose bush. Morty managed to swallow the majority of it too, gagging just slightly as it poured down his throat and settled thickly in his stomach. Morty was glad he had been so determined because Bisca, eyes aglow, pink skin flushing fuchsia, slit sucking and greedy on his fingers… He was a sight to behold.

Abruptly, above them, the noise of a chair creaking interrupted Morty’s thoughts. Bisca pulled himself out of Morty’s mouth, and wiping the dripping cum from the bottom of his chin, Morty was about to ask if they should come out from under the table when a loud zap echoed through the room, followed by the noise of hundreds of orifices coughing (or whatever alien equivalent).

Rick. Morty scrambled, lambasting himself for having gotten all wrapped up with Bisca and forgetting that he was on an adventure. And oh no, Bisca!! Grabbing him by the shoulders, Morty stared into the hazy, exhausted purple eyes. “Bisca, you have to follow me, okay? Stay--stay right next to me please, don't leave me!” Bisca seemed to bristle at being shouted commands, and opened his mouth to retort, but Morty lunged and covered it with his own in a swift, bruisingly sweet kiss. “You can be mad at me later, ‘Lord’ Bisca,” he said with a grin, “But we have to get out of here, right now.”

Beneath the tablecloth, tendrils of smoke crept in from outside, and Morty groaned at how fast Rick's devices always seemed to operate. He looked around himself; nothing. Of course, they were under a table! But his eyes landed on the edge of his sleeve and taking the fabric into his mouth, Morty tore off a corner, and then pulled off a long strip. Wrapping it around Bisca’s mouth and nose, Morty waved off his questions as he made a makeshift mask for himself. “I promise I'll explain, just, c’mon, please, Bisca--” and with that final plea, Morty lifted up the tablecloth and ventured out.

It only took a few moments of stunned silence for the attendees’ brains to fire back up, and pandemonium erupted. Several light flashes and explosions sounded, and Rick (wearing a full gas mask and now crawling out from under the table at which the Duchess was seated) grimaced. Elglorpians had a nasty tendency to inflate their acetylene gas bladder when startled or angry to look bigger, and the Duchess’s closest followers generally kept chlorine-filled syringes with them so that they could transform themselves into walking, talking bombs. This what was happening now – and when one explosion on the tier directly below him almost knocked him off his feet, he knew he had to spring into action.

The Duchess was large, certainly, but the reason for her enormous cortege was that she was really quite helpless when it came down to it. Her eyes had taken on a brightness that made them more like flashlights, and these twin beams of light illuminated the rancid smoke – which made it all the easier for Rick to lunge towards her and, without much care for her well-being, he cut the livery collar off of her neck – leaving a deep gash in the puce-colored flesh of her neck. A bone-chilling screech ran out, followed by more explosions, flesh splattering around – but Rick was already on his way down, dodging the shady, fog-obscured shapes of guests and chairs and table, ducking away from explosions, until he barreled straight into his wayward grandson and his unfortunate companion, who blindly had a hand on Morty’s back.

“Where the hell have you been?” he hissed, unaware of Bisca’s presence. Even with the masks’ visor, he couldn’t see too well with the constant flares and the thickening miasma around them. “We have to beat it!” Grabbing Morty’s arm, he yanked the boy along with him as he more fell than ran to the sixth tier, where he’d established his getaway. From the platform, it was a nine-foot jump to the curtains lining the wall – and behind that curtain he could get into the vents. But that wasn’t the kind of jump Morty could clear.  
  
“Get on my back and hold on!” he yelled over the chaos around them.

Morty could tell there was real danger surrounding them by Rick's more serious tone of voice and his lack of usual jokey banter as they made their escape. As he was dragged by Rick with his right arm in his grasp, his left was held tightly by Bisca, who was dutifully staying by Morty’s side.

“Rick, w-wait, I can't leave him!” Rick prepared to make a jump, and Morty tugged on his labcoat to get his attention, gesturing to Bisca. “He helped me in here, I can't leave him!” By way of showing commitment, Morty linked his arms with the Elglorpian courtier and gave Rick his best puppy dog eyes.

Rick whipped around, clearly annoyed that Morty was interrupting their daring escape with irrelevant bullshit. His expression was hidden entirely by his mask, but an eerie calm descended over him – his shoulders lowering as he stood up a little straighter. “He did, did he?” He put his hand in his pocket as if he might have something in there that would solve this little problem – and in a way, he did.

He pulled the same laser cutter he’d used to free the Duchess of her necklace out in a flash, and pointed it at Bisca. “I-I suggest you fuck off before you regret sinking your little claws into this idiot here,” he said, and took a step towards Bisca. The boy, still wide-eyed and confused and trying to get back to the land of the living after his lovely time with Morty had been so rudely interrupted, glanced at Morty, his eyes dimming a little. He lifted his hand as if to touch Morty’s hair again, but then thought against it; he turned on his heel and hurried back across the platform, disappearing in the fog.  
  
“You better hope that asshole didn’t get a good look at me or we’re both toast,” Rick hissed, pulling Morty towards him. “Put your arms around my neck. Or go after your little Mata Hari over there.” That second suggestion was clearly not an option he was about to let Morty take, as he painfully squeezed Morty’s bicep. “Can’t leave you alone for a second,” he sneered.

Morty’s stomach twisted as he watched Bisca hurry in the opposite direction and vanish. It’s not as if he would’ve taken off after him anyway even if Rick wasn’t holding his arm; Bisca was adorable, but Morty did have his loyalties to his grandfather. And said grandfather was in a _mood_. Slinging his arms around Rick’s neck, Morty hopped up and held on tight. Sometimes it was thrilling being carried around by Rick--he was always so much stronger than Morty gave him credit for. When his voice was deep and growly like it was right now however, was less thrilling and more alarming. When Rick was upset and carrying you around, typically your destination was not a happy one.

Once he was convinced Morty wasn’t going to fall off, Rick looked behind them – in the by now entirely impenetrable mist it was difficult to see if anything was coming, but judging by the noises no one was hot on their tail just yet. He took a few steps backward, leaned forward, and sprinted towards the edge of the platform, pushing off at the last possible moment.

For a moment they hung in the air, and time itself seemed to stop while even Rick, usually the more confident of the pair, held his breath. His reverie was broken by yet another explosion and he reached out to claw at the curtain just in time, holding on tightly and then laboriously climbing up, the boy on his back not making this easier.  
  
“Should’ve left you,” he said through gritted teeth, but when he came to the spot he’d prepared earlier and swung one foot behind the curtain to reveal a narrow passage, he still made sure Morty climbed into the vent first before following him and replacing the air vent grill behind them. “Alright. Start crawling. I’ll tell you where to go.” The necklace around his neck was weighing him down, but not as much as remembering Morty’s little Elglorpian buddy was. “Who the hell was that anyway? I-I told you to go and hobnob, not fucking – not _insinuate yourself into high society_ , Christ.”

Acutely aware that his butt was right in front of Rick’s face and angry, angry hands, Morty wriggled along the passageway as quickly as he could manage. “He--he could tell right away I wasn’t supposed to be here, I don’t--” Morty paused and tried to adjust his tone, no sense in pissing Rick off more, “I don’t know how rich people are supposed to act!”

Rick indicated a left turn, and Morty squeezed himself around the corner, throwing an apologetic glance at Rick over his shoulder, “...so he told me what to do and n-not to do, you know...he made sure I wouldn’t stick out and get discovered!” Leaving out the bit where he almost poisoned himself on the Duchess’ elixir, Morty attempted his best defense: “I thought I was doing what I was supposed to--he said he was a Second Official, collector of cloacas--or somethin I dunno, I’m having a hard time thinking right now, man!”

Another turn, another tunnel, but the noise and smoke were further and further behind them. Ironically, the closer Morty got to safety the sooner he’d be the focus of Rick’s undivided attention.

“Cloacas? Fucking – do you know what these people get up to, Morty?” Rick pulled on Morty’s ankle to indicate they were going to take a little break, despite the fact that they were still in a vent they couldn’t even sit up straight in. “These – these royals, it’s-it’s-it’s _disgusting_ , Morty,” he rambled, unfastening the necklace from around his neck and grabbing his portal gun. “They’ve got this – the Duchess’s whole deal is she secretes this, this _liquid_ , and they all drink it, Morty! That’s what your little butt buddy is probably in charge of!” Rick made a face, tinkering with his portal gun to change some of the settings. “That’s why – did you see those gutters? They have these dinners and they just, just let their mucus and whatever run down, so when y-y-you’re at the bottom you get to have a refreshing glass of _everyone else’s juices_ , Morty!” He fixed Morty with a miffed expression on his face. “They all just eat and drink all these diuretics and then it’s just fucking, fucking watersports, Morty. It’s obscene. It’s, it’s like that joke – y’know, the one where it’s like… the Aristocrats!”  
  
Finally satisfied with his work on his portal gun, he fired it at the wall. The portal it produced was much smaller than the ones they usually used to travel – about the size of a dinner plate. Rick took the necklace, stuck his arm through the portal, and dropped it onto what sounded like a metal surface. “So now we gotta go back into the fray and pretend we don’t know anything about this whole – this heist, Morty. We gotta – we’re checked in, if we don’t make an appearance they’re gonna trace this shit straight back to me!”

The portal closed, and Rick returned the portal gun to its normal settings before shoving it back inside his pocket. “Y-y-you’re lucky that suit doesn’t come off easily or y-you’d be having a real bad time, Morty,” he said. “Guess we’re gonna – guess that’s _postponed_.”

Morty actually squeaked at Rick’s promise and one hand almost inched back to grab his butt protectively, but he managed to hold back. “Awwww! B-but-but Rick!” Morty hated when he did this. Honestly, Morty already knew he was going to get in trouble once he ducked under that tablecloth with Bisca, but it had been worth it! Or at least, he thought it had been worth it. Rick’s spankings had a way of erasing all good intentions and excuses.

In the cramped space of the tunnel, Morty pouted at his grandfather, who was now attempting to dust himself off. He smelled ripe and looked absolutely awful--there was even grease smudged into his unibrow. “Well, what are you gonna do y-you look--even with the explosions and smoke or whatever Rick, you are way too dirty for anyone to believe you’ve been at dinner the whole time!” His ears burned as he defended his friend. “And--it’s--y-you know, their culture, you don’t--” Abruptly Morty realized he had drank three full glasses of-- of what?? He gagged at the memory and dry heaved in repulsion, but tried to finish his mini-lecture anyway. “Y-you can’t-- hiyucc-- it’s not polite to -- hyuc hcccc-- y-you know, judge, cuz, we-huccc- we do weird stuff too Rick!”

Morty’s gagging obviously caught Rick’s attention, and he heaved a dramatic sigh. “Morty, did – did you _drink_  any of that stuff? Did you eat anything? Great – _eeeurrpp_  – great job, Morty! Yeah, you’re right, I’m the asshole here for not partaking in some fancy-ass golden showers.” He grumbled and huffed. “Unbelievable.”  
  
But Morty had made a good point – looking the way he did, there was no way anyone would buy his story about just having been in the bathroom while everything kicked off. Wait – the bathroom! Again Rick pulled Morty’s foot, and made an abrupt turn, now leading the way. As they crawled on the noises of panic and confusion grew louder, although still muffled by the thick walls separating them from the consequences of Rick’s little caper. They passed grate after grate, until Rick suddenly stopped and kicked the grate right next to them out of its frame, lowering himself through the opening he’d created.   
  
They dropped down inside the very bathroom where Rick had changed Morty into his now slightly raggedy-looking tux. He dove into the garbage, rummaged around, and produced the gun the receptionist had given him with a smirk. “Bingo,” he said, popping open a little hatch on the handle and poking around with the wires and chips now exposed. “That should do it.” He fired the gun at himself without stripping down first, but this did not seem to matter – like before, thick strands shot out of the gun and before long Rick was dressed in an equally swanky suit.   
  
With one key difference that became evident when he lifted the jacket. “Separate top and bottom. Good.” This was followed by a calculating look at Morty. “Guess yours could do with some repairs. I guess the question is… do I, should I give you a proper suit or the full-body special again?” A proper suit would allow him to bare Morty’s bottom, but putting him in the tuxedo equivalent of a zentai suit offered other possibilities. A smirk spread on his face.

Morty scoffed and made a grab for the gun, which Rick easily held out of reach. “Come  _on_   Rick, obviously a regular suit! You had me-had me in footie pajamas for crying out loud!” Crossing his arms he glared at Rick who was watching him appraisingly. “Y’know, we have to get back out there and you seem like you’re having a good time in here, but shouldn’t we hurry?” Morty was eager to get back out in public where he knew Rick wouldn’t hit him--and also eager to finish up this adventure so he could get his eventual comeuppance over with. And...also...he did want to see if maybe he’d spot Bisca one last time. If only to apologize, and maybe tell him his real name. He was a total stranger, but Morty thought they had a little spark. He hoped anyway.

“Just, come on, hit me with the suit-shooter or whatever and let’s go make an appearance.” Matching Rick’s smirk, which truly made Morty look like a younger Rick, he snarked, “Since I managed to, h-how’d you phrase it? ‘Insulate high society?’ I can introduce you around, heh.” Obviously untrue, since the entirety of Morty’s brush with the upper class had taken place beneath a tablecloth, but unlike the rest of the family who was scared shitless of Rick, Morty was not. He had a healthy respect for the man, but he wasn’t going to be a doormat just because Rick was angry. And sometimes, a bit of banter helped Rick calm down and not be such a hardass.

Rick pursed his lips and seemed to really be thinking the situation over, even if he’d really already made up his mind. “I-I think it might be more educational for you to keep you in – eeughh – in those _footie pajamas_ ,” he decided, and (holding the gun high), changed the wires back to their original position before firing the gun at Morty, who before long was once again wearing a pristine, one-piece tuxedo. “Being a moron cometh before the fall, Morty,” he said ominously, and then broke the gun over his knee before once again dropping it in the garbage.

He put his hand on the door handle, but stopped to look at Morty seriously. “I-I’m sure I don’t gotta tell you that getting caught right now would be real bad for the both of us, _Morty_. So I’m gonna ask you real nicely to be on your best behavior and to-to do nothing that might draw attention to us, alright? Just – let, let grandpa do the talking.” His tone turned icy, and he concluded: “Right now I’m – I’m just annoyed with you. When we’re home, y-you don’t want that to have turned into _pissed_.” The little grin he permitted himself at the joke that would be flying over Morty’s head entirely only appeared once he’d turned back to face the door, and he opened it – to a foyer in disarray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello sweet readers! Your devoted authors will be releasing two more chapters in December for a *warm* holiday treat ;) stay tuned!


	16. Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Morty continue their ill-advised heist to make off with the Duchess's necklace, but run into several complications. Morty especially finds that when it rains... it pours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you came here for the spanky fun times, fair warning: there's some omorashi in this chapter too! Consider it our Christmas gift to you. Happy holidays, dear reader!

Guests and bellhops, waiters and musicians, everyone seemed to be running back and forth. Some little groups stood huddled in corners, looking around furtively, and almost immediately Rick and Morty were approached by an alien with a managerial air. “Were you – did you only just…?” The alien indicated the bathroom behind them.

Rick grinned widely, and gave Morty a little slap upside the head. “Y- _yeaahhh,_ had to give this little bugger a-a-a-a talking-to for – for being disobedient.”

The manager looked at Morty and quirked an eyebrow. “I see. Well – I’m, I’m sorry to say we’ve been the victim of a terrorist attack just now. You may have… did you really not hear anything?”

Rick looked down at Morty, giving him an intense stare. “Oh, when this one’s getting it he’s a screamer! Like the world’s ending! Right?”

Morty forced a polite smile and nodded, turning his gaze to his shoes, attempting to look contrite. “I--uh, y-yeah, I was--I am--uh, _vocal_ when I’m in trouble.” He felt his ears burn. Even though this was someone he’d never see again in his life, it was always the worst when Rick decided to discuss punishment with someone else in front of him. He glanced at the foyer and tugged on Rick’s sleeve for the alien’s benefit, “Grandpa Rick, since there was a terrorist attack, is it--is it still safe? Should we _go?”_

But at that moment, two pink aliens, looking rather similar to Bisca hurried by, and caught Morty’s attention temporarily. Their antlers were differently shaped however, and appeared to be a feature of his alien race that was unique to each member. Now thinking about Bisca, Morty let his eyes roam around the foyer, looking for signs of his friend, but although Elglorpians milled about, he didn’t spot the familiar tunic and antlers.

“Ohh, good – good idea, Morty,” Rick said. “Yeah we – we oughta, y’know, head out–”

The manager made an apologetic little bow. “Oh, I’m sorry – we’ve had to lock down the hotel.” He leaned in, and in somewhat of a whisper, said: “It seems the attackers have absconded with the Duchess’s _livery collar!”_ He leaned back, looking properly scandalized. “We’re currently searching for it. I’m sure it’ll turn up sooner or later!” He gestured towards the other end of the foyer. “We’ve decided to move on to the reception part of the evening. Unfortunately we won’t be able to serve the prepared dinner, but I’m sure you’ll find the refreshments to your liking.” With that, he was on his way.

Rick clenched his jaw. “Nice try, Morty,” he said, and he seemed to genuinely mean it. “Guess we get to hang out at some lame function and pretend we – we don’t know anything. Shiiiiit.” He stalked towards the reception anyway, not even bothering to check whether Morty was following him. 

Morty was just as peeved as Rick, he didn’t wanna hang around any more than his grandfather did, but they had no choice. He hurried after Rick, walking doubletime to keep up with the long strides, and arriving at the reception hall, almost knocked into his back. Just as opulent and extravagant as the banquet hall, the reception area was more dimly lit and a bit more low-key. Staff bustled to and fro with towels and refreshments and soothing comments as guests talked excitedly and fearfully about the extremely recent attack. At the far end of the room, partially hidden behind elaborately decorated folding panels, a massive entourage of Elglorpians catered to the hidden Duchess, whose huge form was only slightly visible above the panels.

Morty’s rapt attention to his area of the reception hall was noticed by a kindly, seemingly older alien who nodded sadly at him. “Oh yes, are you worried about the Duchess? Oh, what a calamity! Oh, oh!” A little tear fell from his eye and he brushed it away before patting Morty on the head with a damp hand. “You’re a dear little thing to be worried about the Duchess, we all are! Oh, what monster could harm her? Oh, oh, the beast will be found and dealt with, don’t worry little one, oh!”

From the corner of his eye, Morty watched Rick as the alien lamented the plight of the Duchess. Great job Rick, stealing was bad enough, injuring her was probably the greater reason why there was such a panic. It might be interpreted as an attempt on her life! A staff member walked by and offered glasses of liquid on a tray. Upon seeing the liquid slosh around in the glass, Morty had a sudden uncomfortable feeling between his legs.. He shifted awkwardly on his feet and tugged Rick’s sleeve. “Uh, I gotta...I’m gonna go back to the bathroom, Rick, I gotta go, but I’ll be right back.”

Rick did not seem to feel particularly responsible for any of the misery around him and had put his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. It was a shame he couldn’t even get a drink to tide him over. But judging by the way Morty was shifting around, it really would be wiser not to partake of any of the booze on offer there. He glanced down at Morty. “No,” he said. “Consider it a lesson. Y-y-you’re gonna stay here, and you’re gonna hold it. Next time, don’t just shove all sorts of alien nonsense in your mouth.” He grinned, and said: “Besides. That suit’s not coming off. Now be cool, or – or you’ll regret it, _Morty_.”

He looked around. Might as well hurry things along a little bit. They wouldn’t be finding that collar, but maybe he could trick them into thinking that they had. Plus, now that they’d seen him with Morty, really only one of them had to keep up appearances to make it look like they were both just innocent guests trapped in a bad situation. He indicated a high table with several Elglorpians standing next to it, looking pale and concerned. “Grandpa’s gonna take care of some business. You’ll be standing at that table. If – if I even catch a _whiff_ of you leaving that table, Morty… I, I won’t hesitate. Audience or no.” With that final warning, he disappeared into the crowd.

“Rick wait--” but he was already gone and Morty was already alone. Sidling up to the table, making his face look properly worried, Morty slowly inserted himself into the group, nodding and agreeing with everyone else over the Sad State of Affairs. A staff member approached the table and dropped off a tray of more drinks. Everyone present picked one up, and when it was obvious he was the odd one out, Morty unwillingly picked up the last glass. 

“To the Duchess! May her flaps be moist and her elixir pungent!” 

They downed their drinks, and heaving just a bit at the memory of what Rick insisted Elglorpians drank, he finished his own cup. The need to pee danced along the edge of his attention. Not exactly an emergency, but something that was on his mind as the conversation circled back on itself over and over. Poor Duchess this, and poor Duchess that, and just when Morty thought he’d pass out from boredom, another tray of drinks were delivered.

“Oh jeez, I’m--” Morty smiled but grimaced inwardly, “I’m uh....too sad to have any?”

“Nonsense!” Declared the nearest Elglorpian, and he pressed a glass into Morty’s uncooperative hand. “If you’re sad, you should drink more! It will help you feel better!” He motioned at a staff member. “Another tray!” Turning to Morty, he clinked their cups. “Drink up, I promise, you’ll feel much better.”

Morty put the glass to his lips and gulp by painstaking gulp, finished his drink. His suit felt too tight, and he pulled on the collar a bit as he put his glass back down. The bathroom was just down the hall--so close and yet so far--and Morty was more and more irritated that he couldn’t leave.

Or could he? Rick’s threat was nerve-wracking and Morty knew he probably would simply tuck him under his arm and smack away if he really wanted… But here? In front of rich, upper class aliens and royalty?? He pressed his thighs together, trying to ignore how full his bladder felt. Another tray arrived and another glass put into Morty’s palm. 

“Aww, look how sad he is!” Another Elglorpian reached over and with her fingertips, helped Morty lift his glass toward his face. “Drink, drink!”

 _“I’ll_ help him drink, please, your assistance is unnecessary but greatly appreciated.”

Morty jumped and whipped around at the familiar voice. Sure enough, tunic a bit rumpled, but otherwise unscathed, Bisca was standing before him with an unreadable expression. “Drink up, Honey!” He forced the glass to Morty’s mouth and the boy had to chug the liquid down or risk suspicion. Morty wiped his hand on the back of his mouth and tried to speak, but Honey was already turning around to signal a staff member yet again. “We need another tray please!!”

There was some murmuring around the table from the other guests. Elglorpians did not usually fraternize with other species. “Excuse me, aren’t you…?”

Bisca turned to her and offered a dazzling smile. “Yes, I _am_ the Second Official Ducal Cloaca Attendant!”

The woman who had asked him seemed duly impressed, but continued: “Shouldn’t you…”

“No, no,” Bisca waved her away. “The Duchess in her current state should not feel pressured to quench our lowly thirst with her royal effluvia. Besides,” and here he turned to look at Morty as reached for a passing tray and held up yet another glass for Morty to drink, “there’s plenty for all of us already.”

“Quite right, quite right,” was the consensus at the table, and the discussion quickly turned to the Duchess’s upcoming nuptials and whether she could be expected to go through with the traditional conjugal cannibalism now that she was in such a state. Bisca seemed not as interested in this particular topic, as he stood a little closer to Morty, and whispered in his ear: “Are you going to explain yourself?”

Dancing a bit on the balls of his feet, Morty was forced to drink down another glass and he moaned helplessly, hoping this would make Bisca feel more charitable toward him, to no avail. In a low voice to Bisca he tried to placate the Elglorpian without revealing too much. “I d-don’t um--I don’t know _how_ to explain, when my grandfather came to uh, save me during that crazy terrorist attack, I had to go with him.” Morty stood closer to Bisca, but given the attitude of the table, figured he shouldn’t touch him. “I’m sorry he threatened you, he’s p-protective, but still, I feel really bad. Don’t be mad at me Bisca.”

God, these drinks were running through him like water. Morty hiked up one leg, pretending to scratch his knee, but really just clenching his thighs into his groin, desperate for release from the building pressure. It was as if getting blue-balled earlier had made everything more sensitive down there and he shifted again, his eyes darting toward the hallway, beyond which the bathroom and blessed toilets lay.

Even though Morty was apparently trying to stick to the customs of Elglorp, Bisca had no such reservations. Leaning onto the table, he reached out his thin fingers to play with a curl next to Morty’s ear. “He came to save you, did he?” He glanced over at the Duchess. Every now and then, grunts and groans were audible from behind the screen, and he looked a little worried – something he squashed down immediately.

He cozied up to Morty now, the two of them hip to hip, and his surprisingly chilly lips touched Morty’s ear as he in a dangerously level voice murmured: “I wonder which terrorist he was trying to save you from. They still haven’t found them, you know?” Again he took a glass from the tray that was now deposited on the table, and this time he just held the rim against Morty’s lips until the boy finally opened up so he could pour the liquid into his mouth. “I guess they’re getting pretty desperate. I wish I could help them out.”

Morty’s stomach sloshed with the amount of liquid in it, and his bladder in response throbbed uncomfortably. If Rick wanted Morty to learn a lesson through this, by golly it was working! Morty would always make sure to use a bathroom before leaving it! “Bisca--” He swallowed down more drink and bobbed on his feet slightly, “They haven’t? Oh, uh--that sounds dangerous--” where was Rick? When was Rick coming back? When could he pee!?

A sixth glass, (or was this seven now?) was lifted to his mouth, and Morty moved his head away, only for Bisca to cup the back of his neck and force him toward the cup. “Who-- wait, who do you want to help?” Morty tried, anything-anything to refrain from drinking another damn cup!

Bisca’s grip on the back of his neck remained firm, but at least he lowered the glass. “What kind of question is that? Are you asking me if I’d collude with _terrorists?”_ This was followed by him grabbing Morty’s chin firmly with the hand that had been on his neck as he tipped yet another glass into his mouth. “What an insolent question.” He put the empty glass back down, and stood to the side a little, surveying Morty as he trembled where he stood. “Speaking of help, though… you look a little distressed yourself, Honey. Is there anything I could do?”

An older man at the other side of the table looked in their direction, and bristled at Morty. “Honestly, young man! Show some decorum! This is a dark day, and here you are dancing around!” This prompted the others at the table to look at Morty as well, their eyes judgmental and even a little suspicious.

“Indeed, Honey,” Bisca said, examining his nails. “You’re embarrassing me. _And_ yourself.”

“I--s-sorry!” Morty pressed his hands together and lowered his head and his eyes, “Uh--humans are fidgety, I didn’t mean to look like I was dancing.” He screwed up his face into the most woebegone expression he knew how to make and even managed to make his eyes tear up (more from his painful bladder than the state of the Duchess), “L-long live the Duchess, and-and may her flaps be moist and her elixer-er, pungent!”

His acting was convincing enough that earned a few more stern ‘don’t do it again’ glares, but the attention was off him at least. Unfortunately, without the distraction of moving around, Morty was forced to stand still, his only respite clenching his thighs together and digging his fingernails into his palms.To Bisca, he whined, “I really, well, I _do_ actually need your help--if you’ll help me…” Morty gave Bisca the same puppy dog expression he’d given Rick earlier, “I um…” he dropped his voice even lower, quieter, making Bisca lean forward just to hear. “I have to, um...I gotta pee.” Unsure if that would translate, Morty looked down at his crotch and then up again at Bisca, “Er, release human liquid waste. And badly! But--”

Ah, now here was a dilemma! Tell Bisca about the certain doom headed for his backside should he leave the table? Keep it a secret and risk Bisca witnessing him being taken in hand right there? Or...stay at the table and risk pissing himself? Each option was uniquely humiliating and Morty found himself doing pro/con lists in his head as he desperately tried to think of a way to express himself. “My-my grandfather said I have to stay at this table for...safety reasons. I’ll get hurt if I leave,” well, that was true! “But I wanna leave, I _gotta_ leave, to go to the bathroom!”

“Oh, I see,” Bisca said, looking pointedly at Morty’s crotch. “You can’t wait until a more appropriate moment?” He gave a haughty little laugh. “That’s one of the first things an Elglorpian learns! I suppose you humans really are the children of the universe.” Just to show his own self-control, he gulped down a glass of the liquid himself, and shrugged. “See? No dancing around. Surely if you put your mind to it you can control yourself as well.” He put an encouraging hand between Morty’s shoulder blades, patting him soothingly. “And at any rate, those ‘safety reasons’... I think we both know your grandfather might be the most dangerous thing around right now, right?”

His hand slid down a little. While Morty’s grandfather had certainly given him pause when it came to his opinion on Morty himself, he hadn’t forgotten just how pliant (and skilled!) the boy had been before everything went to hell. In a way, he really wouldn’t mind helping Morty during what seemed like a bad predicament… but then the way he stood still so awkwardly and just kept squeezing his thighs together was a little cute. A little cute and a lot enticing. “I’d love to help you, Honey,” he said in a sweet voice, “but I’m not sure what you want me to do? If your grandfather told you to stay here, well...”

“Ooooohhh--” Morty slowly moved his weight from his left leg to his right and back again, desperate to not make it look like he was dancing again, but so, so uncomfortably full. He saw that look in Bisca’s face and knew his friend was enjoying his predicament, but he also couldn’t call him out on that because then he might be less willing to help! “My g-grandfather, is--” Morty chewed his tongue, “He’s just always worried about me but he’s not that dangerous,” (untrue) “I don’t think you need to be scared of him,” (thoroughly false) “and-” Morty made a face, “I _can_ control it, I’ve just been controlling it for a long-long time now, and I’ve been drinkin more too, and I’m full, I won’t--” he dropped his voice again, “I won’t be able to control it forever!”

The hand on his back was soothing though, and Morty was grateful for it, although it was inching toward his bottom and that only served to remind Morty of the spanking he had coming. Could he even run like this? No, he’d have to walk briskly but carefully, too much motion would surely release the floodgates! But if he went really fast--perhaps he could go and return in time and Rick would be none the wiser! “Bisca m-maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I just went really fast...right?” He wasn’t sure if he was looking for encouragement or deterrent from Bisca, but as his only friend present at the moment, he clung to whatever distraction he could. 

Bisca looked at Morty, at the corridor, and then at Morty again. He gave a resolute little nod. “I’m sure we can be back quickly. I’ll go with you – if there’s a queue, having me there would make sure you can skip it. I _am_ part of the Duchess’s retinue, after all.” He took Morty’s hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze – although this was contradicted entirely by the hand now on Morty’s lower back, which moved to rest on his belly. “Oh, you do seem full,” Bisca said with concern, and pushed down gently. “This might even be bad for your health! Human bodies are fragile, I’m told.” His hand slid down further, his fingers now tracing Morty’s desperate little dick. “You relieve yourself using… this, correct? I’ve never seen it happen.” He did not clarify what that last mysterious statement might mean.

Still holding Morty’s hand, he strode towards the exit. But, unlike the promise he’d made to Morty to help him hurry, he was really taking his sweet time – and holding Morty’s hand in a vice grip the entire time! “It doesn’t do to run, Honey,” he said through a dazzling smile at a curtsying dignitary. “You’re at a royal function. Act like it. Oh – Madam Ambassador! I was hoping I’d run into you…”

“Biscaaaaaa” Morty moaned under his breath, but when he was introduced as “rare human specimen guest Honey, in service to Our Shining Light and Luscious Duchess,” he bowed as much as he could manage and followed Bisca’s cues. Nodding and smiling, and his eyes always darting back to that hallway. Bisca’s point was a fair one--if he attracted attention it wouldn’t be a good idea, and might put him and Rick at risk. And Rick was another problem altogether. Squeezing Bisca’s hand as a way to beg him to hurry up, Morty swallowed uncomfortably and began to recite the alphabet in his head. He needed to distract himself. If he thought about _it_ too much he was going to pee. He was going to pee in this stupid suit, at this stupid reception in front of stupidly pretty Bisca; it wasn’t fair!! 

Then again, there were worse things that could happen in front of Bisca. Namely, his ass being paddled. And judging by how much time they were wasting on niceties, that was becoming more and more of a likely scenario. Morty squeezed his thighs together again and tried to think about deserts.

Bisca kept him waiting for quite a while, with little mumbled: “Pull yourself together”s and “Just a little while longer”s. More than once he turned to look at Morty sternly, as if being in charge of this unfortunate little human was something he’d been forced to do rather than something he had not only chosen himself but was relishing, really. Finally, finally, finally, Bisca said his farewells to the Ambassador and strolled onward, pulling Morty to walk right next to him and leaning in to deliver a thoroughly amused: “Are you alright, Honey? Not much further now.”

They finally got to the exit, but they hadn’t reached their destination just yet. Bisca wandered down the corridor, pausing here and there point out some architectural feature or other to his desperate ward, until they finally got to the bathroom, right around a corner and away from the prying eyes of the increasingly frantic hotel staff. “You made it!” Bisca praised Morty, petting his hair. “Very good. I’m impressed with your discipline. And I’m sure you won’t mind me accompany–”

But, when Bisca tried to open the door, it became clear that it was locked. “Oh,” he said. “How unfortunate. I suppose we’ll just have to wait a little.” This was unforeseen, and he was starting to feel a little bad for Morty. “I’m sure I can distract you,” he winked, and pushed Morty against the wall, kissing him.

“Bisca, it won’t--” But it did. Sort of. Bisca’s smooth lips pressed into Morty’s still-speaking mouth, and the boy folded like a house of cards, held up by Bisca’s chest pressed into his own. Like magic, that beautiful floral smell filled his nostrils, and expecting to be taken care of, he sprang a chub in the front of his suit that bulged unsubtly in the front. Needy and nearly at his limit, Morty wrapped his arms around Bisca, pulling him closer still and surrendering to the sweet kiss. Bisca’s leg pressed between Morty’s and he ground into the thigh offered, almost weeping at how good it felt to relieve just a little bit of the pressure.

The urge to release was still omnipresent but being turned on lessened the immediate emergency, and temporarily mollified, Morty eagerly kissed Bisca back. Bisca’s mouth opened a fraction as a invitation, and Morty slid the tip of his tongue inside, curiously probing. His eyes opened when he felt not one, but two rows of razor sharp teeth, and winced as one tooth scraped him just bit too hard, and he tasted the metallic flavor of his own blood. He persevered and kissed Bisca as well as he knew how too, particularly as focussing on making out was making his other problem less and less of a priority.

Bisca tasted that blood too, but it only seemed to spur him on. Although his eyes were closed, that familiar light grew brighter, backlighting the veins in his eyelids as he nudged Morty’s needy bulge with his slender thigh. He put a hand on Morty’s dick, trapping the poor thing between a rock and a hard place, and rubbed it inquisitively. “Both a source of discomfort and pleasure,” he murmured against Morty’s lips. “How strange your human anatomy is!”

With his other hand cupping Morty’s cheek, he delved into the kiss once more, humming a little – in almost the exact same tone that Morty had hummed when he’d gone down on the Second Attendant. Finally he pulled back, and glanced at the door. “This is lovely, but they’re taking too long, honestly.” He rapped on the door. “Hello? Excuse me, people are waiting.”

There had been some quiet noises that might have been the sound of someone taking a leak, or something else entirely, but those now stilled. “Some people are so rude!” Bisca said to Morty, and knocked on the door again, fiercer now. “Open the door or I’ll have it opened! Hello?!”

While Bisca was attempting to open the door, Morty had gone back to dancing, onlookers be damned. Without the pressure of Bisca’s thigh, or the distraction of Bisca’s sharp mouth, Morty’s full bladder shot right back up to the top of his mind and the only thing he could focus on was peeing and peeing _right away._

Morty hopped between his feet and whined pitifully “Bisca it’s been too looooong!” He leaned against the wall with his shoulder, feeling his eyes water--oh god, was he going to cry? Morty stuffed his hands against his groin, as if he could physically hold the pee inside. “Rick’s gonna--and I’m gonna--I’m gonna piss myself I know it, ohhhh---and-and f-ffuck, I don’t know if I can last any longer, and we’ve been gone from the table for hours, Rick’s gonna find me and I’m-I’m-I’m gonna dieeeee--” Morty moaned incoherently at the end of the sentence and limped to the bathroom door to stand closer to Bisca, ready to sprint inside the bathroom the second it opened.

“I’m working on it!” Bisca sighed. “Hello? I’ll have you know I’m part of the Duchess’s escort, and I am _not_ making idle threats when I say I’ll call over security and have them break this door open!” Inside, a muffled noise. Bisca looked to Morty with exasperation. “This is unprecedented! I can’t wait to see what kind of boor–”

The lock on the door clicked, and the handle slowly lowered.

“About time!” huffed Bisca.

The boys had to take a step back as the door swung outward, revealing the occupant of the bathroom to be… an aging, female Elglorpian. She blinked owlishly at the two boys, and smiled apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was such a queue!” This last comment didn’t seem to be addressed at Bisca and Morty, however, and from behind them came the sound of someone clearing their throat.

“There won’t be for long,” Rick said. 

“Ohhhhh JEEEEZ--” Morty painfully shuffled and hopped his way to stand in front of Bisca, blocking him from Rick, but his movements were so clumsy and hampered by his bent-over position and his full bladder, and his tired legs, that it was less heroic and more wretched. “Bi-Bisca, you gotta--uh, leave! Just run away and don’t worry about me, but--definitely, you should definitely go--” He angled himself even more in front of Bisca, “Rick, he--I asked him to b-bring me, d-d-don’t--don’t do anything to him, _please_ honest, I know I was super wrong, but he shouldn’t get in trouble, okay? please?”

Morty crossed his legs as he stood, still fidgeting, still awkwardly bobbing as he kept turning to look at the bathroom door. “Rick--okay--I--y-you’re mad, totally get it--and-and I knowww, I’m g-gonna ‘get it’ but seriously! I’m gonna really pee!” As if his dancing and abject distress wasn’t convincing enough, Morty pleaded with Rick while almost curling in on himself, “Please! I don’t--I c-can’t!”

Rick looked from one boy to the other as the elderly Elglorpian awkwardly shuffled past, looking at the unfolding scene over her shoulder. He noted the Elglorpian boy’s defiant smile, Morty’s desire to protect this ‘Bisca’ (or perhaps just his desire to protect his own pride), and most of all he took notice of Morty’s slightly distended belly and that all-too-familiar bulge. Yes, he had an idea or two as to what had transpired here, and with his own business taken care of… he had some time to get involved.

He leaned in, almost as if to pat Morty on the head, but then snatched him by the ear instead and pulled him up roughly into a proper standing position. “I give you one clear instruction,” he hissed, “and-and this is what I get? You fooling around in a corridor?” He gave Morty’s ear a proper yank, and looked at Bisca. “I know you’re not as stupid as you’re pretending to be. Did you rat me out? Are you gonna?”

Bisca was quiet for a moment, a little cowed by Rick’s ferocious presence, but then squared his shoulders with all the confidence of someone who knows they might possibly at some point in the future receive a lordship. “No,” he said, “and no.”

“Good,” said Rick curtly, “then you can watch.” He turned around, and began to drag a supremely distressed Morty back to the ballroom by the ear.

It’s not like Morty expected this adventure to go off without a hitch. They almost never did. But this was going wrong in ways he hadn’t dreamed possible, and they were about to be wronger still! His ear burning with pain, held securely between Rick’s thumb and forefinger actually provided just a bit of welcome distraction, but not quite enough. He still had to pee, and yet, he was being dragged unceremoniously down the hallway, away from the toilet! “Rick pleeeeee-hee-heeeease” He whined, shuffling his feet along, one hand wrapped around Rick’s forearm to stop him from tearing his ear off, the other gripping himself between the legs, willing his bladder to hold--hold it just a bit longer.

Bisca trotted along on the other side and Morty was almost driven to tears just by his presence. The cutest boy he’d ever hooked up with, was now going to see him at his worst! “Bisca--you don’t--don’t watch!” Morty whined as he stumbled along after Rick. “It’s g-gonna be _horrible!”_ Morty groaned again as his bladder throbbed. Everything hurt: his ear was stretched and burning, his dick was still half-hard, his bladder was at complete capacity, as was his stomach that still splashed around inside him, full of fluids, his face was probably bright red and every step that took him closer to the ballroom hurt his pride just a little bit more.

“Please--don’t--R-Rick tell him!” Morty tried, anything to save him this embarrassment, “Tell him it’ll be bad! He-he doesn’t wanna see it!” The desperate boy turned again to the slightly amused pink alien, “You _don’t!_ Really! It’s--uh, it’ll be scary!”

“Bad? I-I – eeughh – I disagree, Morty,” said Rick, lengthening his strides. “I think this’ll be _very good_ for you.” He looked down at the alien at his side, who seemed more intrigued than general non-terrestrial curiosity at Earth customs could explain away, and had to suppress a smirk. “But it’ll be scary, alright.”

Bisca looked up at him, smiling brightly: “Oh, I don’t scare easily.” He turned to glance at Morty from behind Rick’s back, and shot him a heartening grin as well. “Don’t worry, Honey. I’m happy to watch.”

Rick snorted. Honey? Already on the pet names, then? Seemed like Morty was taking after his dad and really clinching the first relationship he could sink his grubby little fingers into. That’d make this next bit all the better. They entered the ballroom, where the Duchess was still being tended to in a way that was both private and public, and where the other guests were still milling around – although the atmosphere had gotten a little more relaxed. He pulled Morty closer to him by the ear, and said: “You’re so worried about being embarrassed, huh? Well, let me – let this be a lesson. If y-y-you’re gonna disobey me, way worse things happen. We’re gonna stay here until you lose control in front of all these people, and then I’m taking you into the bathroom for a hiding you’re gonna remember on your fucking deathbed, Morty.”

He straightened up again, offering a sunny smile to the other guests, and went to stand at a table – in fact, the very same table Morty and Bisca had stood at before.

“Ohhh, pleeease--please Rick--” That threat almost made him piss himself right then and there, and with an anguished little cry, he’d clamped both hands to his crotch as a tiny spurt of hot, _impossibly hot_ pee escaped his cockhead. Morty was very sorry indeed, and mixed with his humiliation and self-pity, he did feel guilty that this would be the second time in less than 24 hours that he’d been _occupied_ when he was supposed to be doing something else.

Rick had effectively dropped his ear almost mid-stride, and Morty was caught off guard by how his placement ensured he was surrounded on all sides by people or tables. He dropped his head to stare at his feet, one foot standing on top of the other, legs clenched so tightly and for so such an amount of time that they were beginning to cramp. He realized now that he was, or had been, sweating and Morty’s suit clung to him, as his anxiety increased and he sweat more. Stupid Rick. Stupid Bisca too! Morty chanced a look at his friend standing nearby observing and almost wanted to scream at his dumb luck--he really did attract types like Rick! Bisca was watching him carefully, his eyes glowing like before, and seeing the expression on his face had Morty ducking his head again. In his hands, his dick twitched and he squeezed. Maybe he could get turned on again and not have to pee? 

Morty conjured up images of Bisca gasping in his hands, and--Bisca--forcing him to drink glass upon glass of water--no! Morty’s eyes popped open again and he groaned as he felt himself beginning to break down. 

Rick, meanwhile, was altogether ignoring Morty and Bisca alike and was instead making some surface-level conversation with the others at the table. “Real – real unfortunate, this Duchess business,” he nodded sagely as if it hadn’t been him who had literally stabbed her in the back with a laser cutter to steal the most precious symbol of her authority – just to turn said symbol into various inventions (among others, a device to pulverize kidney stones – he’d been getting them lately and intergalactic medical science was just too behind to do anything about it). He laughed politely at jokes, sighed at the various expressions of grief and concern, and was altogether making quite a good impression on his conversation partners.

The person who might actually need to be hobnobbing with the others at the function (namely Bisca) no longer showed any interest in doing so. He had his eyes trained on Morty, his eyes slowly travelling down Morty’s body to what looked like the beginning of a wet spot. He licked his lips. This was all so _intriguing_. But more than that, there was some other mystery that required clearing up.

“Did he just call you Morty?” he asked. “What does that mean?” He folded his arms and rested them on the table, cocking his head at Morty. “I feel a little bad for making you drink so much, too.” He grinned, baring his sharp little teeth, remembering the metallic and somehow vulnerable taste of Morty’s blood in his mouth during their kiss.

Right. As much as Morty felt guilty for being inconvenient to his grandfather, he felt a thousand more times guilty about his mild lie to Bisca. Of course, he’d never admit this out loud. Morty had been trying to put his finger on something that had been escaping his train of thought all night but now looking at Bisca gleaming at him, it finally dawned clear and simple. Heck, Rick even pointed it out! Bisca wasn’t an idiot, and while Morty doubted he actually was interested in his extreme pain, he _had_ absolutely wanted to see exactly what ‘trouble’ entailed. It pissed him off and turned him on at the same time. Bisca wanted to see him in trouble? 

“I-I-I gotta be-be honest with you, Bisca,” Morty said quietly. He lifted his face, meeting the violet eyes, but then dropped his gaze to his chest. “But you can’t get too mad at me, deal?”

Bisca nodded agreeably.

Morty held his crotch a little tighter, begging the universe, just a little longer… “My name is actually Morty. I...was too nervous to tell it to you right away, especially because Bisca’s probably _your_ real name. ‘Honey’ is just, uh, a nickname humans give to-to kids and-” he stuttered incomprehensibly, “-and stuff.” Morty looked up again, “Sorry.”

Bisca frowned, looking a little puzzled (whether at the concept of nicknames or at the revelation that Morty had lied to him, even if it was only a tiny little lie in the grand scheme of things – that wasn’t entirely clear). Then he shifted a little closer to Morty, and kissed him on the forehead. “If it’s a nickname for children,” he said, “I suppose I’ll just have to keep calling you Honey.” He propped his head up with a hand under his chin, and laughed a little. “I’m glad I met you, Honey,” another cheeky little grin, “all things considered.”

‘All things considered’ proved to be an evolving situation in itself when a young page came running helter-skelter into the ballroom and grasped the first dignitary she encountered by the arm. An agitated conversation followed, and then both the page, the dignitary, and several security guards left the ballroom. Rick looked over his shoulder, seemingly unperturbed.

He then looked at Morty, who even now was getting all cutesy and cozy with what Rick suspected might be the actual cause of his current trouble. “I-I think it’s about to get real busy in here,” he said nonchalantly. “Take that as you will.” It might be that the crowd would be too distracted to notice Morty wetting himself – or it might be that it would just be a bigger audience to bear witness to Morty’s humiliation. Rick actually wasn’t quite sure himself. What he _did_ know was that Morty would be regretting every single thing he’d done that day, and soon too – regardless of whether he managed to hold it for a little while or not.

Morty was glad that Bisca had kissed him like that, even if it was a bit condescending (and even if Morty found he didn’t mind that it was!) because that was probably the last nice thing that would happen to him today. In the seconds that followed the commotion at the front of the banquet hall, Morty lost his focus from the hustling guards and panicked expressions on the masses surrounding him. He groaned deeply as a trickle turned into a geyser, and he pissed himself where he stood. 

The relief at finally letting go started the waterworks upstairs too, and a few sorry tears rolled out of the corners of his eyes as piss continued to gush from him, attracting stares as a dark puddle formed on the carpet. “Fffuck--” He muttered, avoiding Bisca’s eyes and staring at the table surface, littered with half full glasses of liquid. His suit now stuck firmly to him, hot and chafing, and Morty swore he could see the faintest tendrils of steam wafting from his groin and thighs into the air conditioned hall. The murmurs and worried conversations that had risen after the guards ran out of the hall stilled in the area surrounding Bisca and Morty and this prompted a few more ashamed tears.

Throwing his arm over his face to cover his eyes in the crook of his elbow, Morty begged Bisca one last time and began quietly, “Really--y-you don’t want to see what’s next,” he sniffed miserably, “Rick’s gonna wear me out, and it--just don’t. Don’t watch!” This last part was said louder, more frustrated. And was perhaps not just directed at Bisca alone.

The stares Morty’s display had prompted grew from surprised and mildly disgusted to properly horrified. The same guest who had berated Morty earlier now said: “Why, it’s – it’s that insolent youth from before! What’s with this immaturity?” Even the aliens that had not been looking at Morty just yet now looked in his direction, prompted by the older man raising his voice at poor, humiliated Morty Smith. “Honestly!”

Rick turned around as if he hadn’t known this exact thing was about to happen. He made brief eye contact with Bisca, who – for lack of a better word – looked _hungry_ , and a little expectant too. He then shifted his attention to Morty, pulled his arm away from his face, and delivered a stinging slap to his cheek, leaving a red handprint on the boy’s face that only slowly faded away. “Repulsive,” he seethed (as if he himself hadn’t lost control of his downstairs situation more than once). “This is – this is a _function_ in the Duchess’s honor, _Morty.”_ Distaste dripping from his every word, his face contorted with disappointment, he once again took hold of Morty’s ear. “I’m – I apologize on my, on my grandson’s behalf,” he said, “he’ll – don’t, don’t worry, he’ll think _twice_ before turning himself into a spectacle again.”

Approving murmurs sounded around the table, and from the aliens surrounding them (“Kids today!”, “We need more parenting like this!”, “Such a nasty boy!”) and Rick marched away, Morty by the ear and Bisca in tow, apologizing curtly to the hotel employee they passed on the way out – who seemed to be lugging along an oversized carpet steamer.

In the corridor, Rick paused. He finally let go of Morty’s ear only to immediately grab him by the arm, and he lifted him onto his tiptoes to hiss: “I don’t – don’t think you’ve deserved _privacy,_ you little asshole.” Instead, he dragged his grandson (and Bisca, who was still happily following along) to the reception, where he requested (and received) a pair of scissors. These were immediately put to use – he turned Morty around, snipped his skintight, wet-from-the-waist-down suit down the back, and pulled it down to Morty’s knees, effectively hobbling him and exposing him to the other guests in the lobby as well. It was a little quieter now that something seemed to be going on in the ballroom, but all the same the servants and guests still present did not hide their stares at the sniffling, half-dressed boy.

On to the next stop. The elevators had been turned off the moment the attack had begun, and the seat between them was unoccupied. But Rick didn’t sit down – instead, he put his foot on the low bench, and bodily swung Morty over his thigh. Immediately, the first slap rang out, leading to several startled looks in their direction.

The second thought Morty had was one of disgust. Rick was touching his skin that was still-half damp from piss! Despite the many, _many_ utterly vile things those hands got up to, somehow it was still, in some childish way, super gross that Rick was spanking bare handed. His first thought was simply screaming, white-hot pain.

“HhhhAHHhhh--!” He couldn’t even get a proper yell out! Morty flailed his arms blindly as the next two swats slammed home in quick succession. Still breathless, still gasping for air, he choked in his throat on his own panic, and it wasn’t until lucky number five that he finally expressed his appreciation. “YAHHH-hhhouuchh! R-Rick! Ouchh--hahh--” Morty had nothing to hold on to--nothing to grip or twist, his feet couldn’t brace against the floor, he had nowhere to lay his head. His singular, searing focus was Rick’s hard hand on his bottom. He’d started crying from the slap in the banquet hall, embarrassed blubbering really, Rick could be so goddamn mean sometimes. Now being spanked, and in such a difficult position too, it didn’t take much to send him right over the edge and start crying in earnest.

“I’m sorry!” He managed to cry out, and luckily too, because Rick held him closer and really went to work; it was among the last coherent things Morty managed to say. His dick was also not faring better than his behind. He still wasn’t fully flaccid, but also wasn’t even close to being hard, given the onslaught he was bearing, so his semi was simply squished into Rick’s hard thigh, his balls undoubtedly on display any time he kicked his legs apart too much.

It wasn’t the easiest position to maintain for Rick either (despite his grandson being a relative lightweight), but it had the great advantage of making it very difficult for Morty to protect his behind – plus, it made it easier for Bisca to see both Morty’s rapidly reddening ass and tear-streaked face.

The alien boy had seemed a little taken aback at first, unfamiliar with the ritual he was suddenly and unexpectedly privy to. It didn’t take him long to be more intrigued than disturbed, however. Morty’s discomfort had been something he’d quite enjoyed when it was still just him being embarrassed about almost wetting himself – but this discomfort was something else altogether. If he’d known that this was something humans did, he might have spent his time under the table with Morty quite differently… initially, at least.

While Bisca spent some time looking at Morty’s ass, which Rick’s firm hand was quickly setting entirely ablaze, Rick spared no energy putting his grandson in his rightful place. It had been a while since Morty had received a real, proper punishment, and it had been about time, really. There was then no semblance of a warmup, no breaks, no rubbing, just that same hard palm slamming against Morty’s upturned ass again and again and again. In fact, Rick was putting in enough effort that it was difficult for him to speak (and his hand and arm were both getting sore already), but he made an effort all the same.

“If I – _tell you_ – to stay… you _stay_ ,” he managed through gritted teeth. “You don’t _leave_. You don’t _complain_. You don’t _disobey_.”

This last command seemed to have Bisca perking up a little, and he wandered around to the other side to look at Morty’s face. “Is this what they do to disobedient children on Earth, Honey?” he asked in a deliberately saccharine voice.

Rick huffed out a laugh, and delivered a walloping smack to Morty’s upper thigh. “This and more – ain’t that right, _honey?”_

“Yeaahh--Y-y-eeeess--AHHH--OUCH-Ye-yessss, _Sir!”_ Good god they wanted to talk?? Right now?? Morty lifted a hand to scrub his face, grimaced at the amount of snot and tears that coated his wrist and then cried harder. They were both being so unfair! Sure he had earned a spanking, Morty would cop to that! But so hard!? Sheesh, at this rate Morty would have to be carried home! He hung his head, avoiding looking at Bisca, who sounded like he was perhaps a little too interested in the proceedings. 

“I’m--AHhhh--oh-ohkay--I’m--AH-YEOWCH, OWW, So-ssorr-” He gave up and just wailed his distress. Why bother apologizing? It’s not like it mattered until Rick asked for one at the end. His bottom was on fire, and had he been over Rick’s lap, he’d have probably reached back by now, but hanging so precariously was scary enough, to try and maneuver was too much. Overwhelmed, Morty weakly kicked his left leg in the air like a child and gave up trying to maintain any kind of dignity. Normally he wanted to take his spankings _like a big boy_ Morty shook his head at that phrasing. Like an adult! 

Bisca stared at Morty’s snotty face in rapt attention (he’d thought humans couldn’t produce the same kind of secretions as his people, but evidently they just did it in a different way – and under different circumstances) and even glanced up at Rick every now and then. There was something supremely thrilling about the old man’s contorted face, the sheer fury radiating from his very being, and the ferocity and power of his arm and every single swat it delivered.

Focused on teaching Morty a real lesson, Rick did not initially pay much notice to his enraptured audience member. Instead, he ensured that Morty’s ass went from pink to red to a deep, cherry red that was almost purple in record speed. This time there was no time for Morty to catch his breath, or even for Rick to reiterate the lecture. What was there to repeat anyway? Morty knew why he was in this position. And besides – if he had calculated everything correctly they’d be finding his counterfeit livery collar right about now, which gave him perhaps half an hour until they realized it was a fake.

Time for the home stretch then. As suddenly as the spanking had begun, Rick ended it. He unceremoniously dragged Morty to his feet – and then hooked his own foot behind one of the bench’s legs, pulling it towards him. He looked at Bisca. “Y-y-you wanna help?”

Bisca nodded eagerly.

“Alright. Morty, y-y– _eeeuughh_ – you’re gonna lie over that bench, and kid, y-you’re gonna hold his arms in front of him. And I,” he said, reaching for his belt, “will be–“

But there was no belt. He’d changed into a tuxedo. Shit. “Stay there,” he barked, and stalked towards the reception, leaving Bisca and Morty alone.

“Hoooo--sh-shiiit--ahhh--” Morty squirmed, absolutely desperate to reach back and rub his sore ass, but petrified that Rick was keeping an eye on him even if he had walked off in a huff. The indicated bench sat before them both, and a little unsteadily Morty took a step toward it before glancing over his shoulder and saying in a betrayed voice, “Y-you could y-y’know, look -sniff- a-a-a little less excited, fuck, Bisca--”

Saying it out loud made him start to cry again. He’d been so cool, making Bisca fall into giggles and gasps beneath the table, and now he was getting a much-deserved whupping and couldn’t do a thing about it. What’s more, his friend (hmph, some friend!) was going to be assisting in his own spanking! Most of Morty’s shame at being publicly punished had rushed out of him with the rest of his inhibitions when Rick had really gotten started, and so, ass on display, trembling terribly, he slowly began to bend over the bench.

While Rick tried to convince the lady behind the reception to give him an implement (any implement), with her a bit more reluctant as he still had not returned the clothing gun she’d lent him, Bisca marvelled at the sight before him, even less reserved now that Rick had left. Rick’s presence had been a bit of a nerve-wracking factor, but with him gone, he could just look at Morty – and so he did.

“I think you should be quiet,” he said a little breathlessly, “ _Honey_. Take your punishment with some dignity.” He could barely wait for Morty to assume the position he’d been instructed to, and the moment Morty’s belly touched the bench he was kneeling next to him, cold fingers running over Morty’s heated skin. It felt so hot – so much hotter than the rest of Morty, save perhaps the inside of his mouth. Bisca was trying to be gentle, but it was difficult not to give in to temptation, and he delivered a slap to Morty’s ass as well.

“You look so different down here,” he mused, not specifying whether this difference was with Bisca himself or with Morty’s usual non-spanked state. “Let’s see.” Considering this might be his only chance (Rick still loudly arguing in the background), Bisca was not as coy as he’d been when he’d first met Morty. He stood up, moved behind the prone boy, and kicked his legs apart to expose his asshole as well as his crotch. “What about these?” he asked, grabbing Morty’s balls more firmly than human genitalia generally could tolerate. “Are these not to be punished?”

“NO!” Morty yelped, kicked his legs back together to shield himself and waved his hand behind him “Stop it! I’m gonna--Y-you’re making it worse! He’s gonna think--Rick will think I’m-I’m having --I’m goofing around, pleeease!” For the first time, Morty began to regret meeting Bisca. Would this adventure never end? “H-human genitalia is--it can get hurt easily, okay?” Morty explained, anything to get Bisca to stop so it wouldn’t look like they were playing around again. “The, -sniff- the butt c-can take...a, a lot.”

“Anyway, don’t get me in more trouble!” He pleaded, “I’m-I’m trying to be quiet, but it hurt! Y-you aren’t feeling it, Rick’s being tough today, I can’t--take it any better than I am already!” Morty huffed over the bench, and lifted up his arms in front of him. “Can you just hold my hands please?”

Bisca was not used to being told what to do, and bristled, prying Morty’s legs apart. “This is educational for me,” he said, now kneeling between Morty’s spread legs to keep him from closing them again. “First you tell me I can’t be too excited, and now when I try to be serious you tell me off as well?” He reached out, his hand hovering over Morty’s heated skin. “I’ll have you know I’m a quick learner,” he said. “These external parts… one has to be gentle.”

Maybe he really was trying to show Morty he could be nice. Maybe he realized this was an even better way to horrify him. Or maybe he really was just curious and eager to learn more about the human body. But the reality of the situation was that his slender finger tips started prodding, petting, caressing the more sensitive parts of Morty’s anatomy that had until now managed to escape Rick’s wrath. He ran a finger along the length of Morty’s cock, rolled his balls in his hand to test their weight, and even – this part perhaps the most curious of all – circled Morty’s asshole with a fingertip, surprised when no cock emerged from it… but intrigued as well. “Is this just for insertion?” he inquired. “A second mouth?”

Rick, meanwhile, retreated to the bathroom he’d visited twice before that day (swearing and complaining), to retrieve the clothing gun and repair it.

“W-would you-- Ahh!” Morty shivered as his asshole was teased, and tried to shift away from Bisca’s curious hands. “It’s--god!” His cock throbbed, slowly getting harder despite the fire in his ass, “It’s b-both--stuff uhh...c-comes out and goes in, but it’s--” Fuck, Morty wished he’d have a heart attack right now just to end this embarrassment, “It’s dirty, Bisca, come on--”

Morty lifted his head to scan for Rick. This wasn’t good. Bisca was going to get him in horrible trouble, and Rick was already pissed off. No telling what horrors he’d be subjected to! So Morty squirmed uncooperatively, doing his best to keep his bits away from Bisca’s prying hands as he begged, “Stoooooop--c-c’mon, for real, Bisca, I’m--this isn’t fun! And I really d-don’t want Rick mad, please!” Fear was keeping Morty from getting fully hard and panic at Rick coming back began to settle in. 

It was perhaps to the credit of Bisca’s breeding that Morty’s genuine terror finally (eventually) seemed to strike a chord. He withdrew his hands, examining his fingers (Morty hadn’t really seemed dirty in any way, but maybe it was something invisible?) and then finally stood up. The rising panic in Morty’s voice had been fun for a little while but it was starting to sink in for Bisca that this activity, enticing though it seemed to _him_ , was something he’d never experienced. Maybe it really was that horrible for poor Morty. In a way, he was probably at least partially responsible too… but the way Morty’s cock had stirred when he’d touched him had set the wheels in his mind in motion.

He kneeled before Morty now, tenderly taking his hands. “You’re taking it very well,” he said serenely. “I can’t help but think I may have caused you to end up in this position.” He kissed one of the hands he was holding, and looked up at Morty, his eyes half-lidded with something undefinable. “I wonder if I’ll ever get to make it up to you.”

This was a good question, as Rick at that point returned, looking for all the world as if he was about to put Morty in an early grave. He seemed to have been able to procure a belt after all, but the hoops he’d had to jump through to receive it had done his mood no favors, and he already had been less than cheery. “I-I see you had the good sense to listen for once,” he sneered, folding the belt in half. “Keep him there,” he snapped at Bisca, who nodded slowly, trying to seem ‘less excited’, as Morty had requested.

“I’m not in the – _eeeughh_ – not in the _mood_ to lecture you, Morty,” Rick grouched. “Rest assured that if you want to act like an idiot on an adventure, I-I’ll make sure you finish that adventure with your ass destroyed.” With that threat looming over the three of them, his arm reared back, and the belt came down viciously onto Morty’s already discolored backside.

The last time Morty had felt the belt had been a reward. How things change! After a fierce walloping by Rick's hand, the leather belt had real bite to it and despite Rick’s, and Bisca’s and truly, even Morty’s desire for there to be a bit of decorum to these things, Morty shrieked aloud. At the time, Morty thought Rick telling Bisca to hold him was just to further shame him, but on the third lick, Morty yanked his hands back mindlessly, only to discover they were held secure. 

With bleary eyes he looked up at Bisca, whose antlers stood at attention in interest as he watched carefully. He didn't look _exactly_ compassionate but he was certainly not as giddy as before. Those pretty, pretty eyes were glittering though--something Morty found just a tiny bit comforting. Tiny because there was no real comfort during Rick's skillful use of the belt, which was applied judiciously against the chorus of Morty’s agonized crying. 

“Sssirrr-pl-pleeeezz--hic-” Morty jerked every time the belt came down, but his legs were tangled at the knees by what was left of his damp tuxedo, and with his hands held, there was no where to go, and nothing to do. So Morty put his head down on the bench and just cried and yelped his way through, entirely past the point of any talking. It'd been awhile since he'd been so thoroughly punished, and he almost felt strangely relieved as a borrowed belt expunged his sins. Meanwhile, Bisca’s cool hands firmly wound around his own was sweet consolation and despondent as he was, Morty gripped them back with surprising force despite his dismal state. 

The sights (and sounds!) of Morty receiving his (rightful?) comeuppance only seemed to grow more and more intense. Bisca couldn’t look away, even if he had wanted to. The way Morty’s features were all screwed up, the agonized screams, the tears streaming freely down his flushed cheeks – it was all utterly alien to him, and beautiful in its strangeness. And to think that this morning he’d been sure this was just going to be another boring dinner! Working for the Duchess was a privilege in itself, but this bonus made him even more grateful for his position.

Rick was feeling less grateful. Usually he quite enjoyed spanking a well-deserving bottom, but properly punishing someone took strength and energy, and his arm was complaining with every new smack he delivered to Morty’s cherry red behind. Not only that, but this friendship Morty had struck up in his absence didn’t amuse Rick at all – Bisca might have promised to keep his trap shut, but what if he didn’t? And if Rick neutralized him now Morty would never forgive him. Not that he needed Morty’s approval to do anything… or respected his opinion… or disliked it when Morty was upset with him… or enjoyed seeing Morty happy…

“Please? Please what?” he barked, the belt snapping down. “Please teach you a lesson? Oh, I’m – I’m _on it_ , you little brat.” However, now that Morty was no longer kicking and screaming but rather just lay there, sobbing and taking his punishment like Rick had taught him to, it was getting less and less satisfying to belt the boy. Morty was usually a pitiful sight when he was getting disciplined for real, but with his wet tuxedo twisted around his knees he looked so small and vulnerable that even Rick wondered – briefly – if he’d been a bit too hard on him.

No. No such thing. Adventure spankings were usually more intense than household ones, if only because disobedience while on another planet could have way more severe consequences than fucking up at home could. Rick set his jaw, doled out three last, savage blows, and then stopped. Panting a little, he dropped the belt on the floor and rubbed his arm. “You can let go of him,” he told Bisca, and then his hands were on Morty’s hips and he hoisted him off of the bench, off of his feet, and hugged him tightly.

There was always a moment during a spanking, generally tough punishments like this, that Morty would promise himself he wouldn’t accept any hugs! Especially from his tormentor! He never held firm obviously, and soon as Rick’s hands touched him, Morty was clambering up and hugging him back. As hard as he’d been crying over the bench, Rick’s crushing, warm embrace made him sob all over again. He was forgiven, and he was safe, and he was oh so very, very sorry. Everything was wiped from his mind as he was held closely--the humiliation in the banquet hall, the shame at a public spanking, even the events of the entire last week. All that filled Morty’s mind was the incredibly hot pain in his backside and Rick. 

His face buried against Rick’s shoulder, Morty cried out the last of his tears and his bleak distress was replaced by an utter tranquility. He relaxed a little in Rick’s arms and sighed contentedly, murmuring more, not caring if he could be heard or not. “I’m sorry -sniff- R-Rick.” His ass throbbed angrily and he sniffled a little more at the pain before in a timid voice he asked Rick’s tuxedo: “Nnof--not m-mad ‘nymore--right?” He already knew the answer--there was something really wonderful about punishments (as detestable as they felt) in the clean slate it offered both parties. Morty felt absolved, wholly and completely, but better still he felt that he was in his rightful place again. By Rick’s side, tearful a bit perhaps, but honest and dutiful, and once more a _good boy._ Morty had to make sure though--Rick had meant it when he’d promised a profound hiding, and he _had_ been really annoyed. So Morty clung a little tighter, barely aware that they might still have an audience, “I r-really--really felt -sniff- that one…”

With one hand on Morty’s back and the other supporting his throbbing bottom, Rick shushed Morty soothingly. “No, Morty – I-I, I’m not mad anymore. You’re my good boy. My, my good li’l helper.” He looked over at Bisca, who seemed to be as interested in this new phase of the ritual as he had been during Morty’s spanking, and found himself cheered considerably by the way Morty was clinging to him – so he offered the other boy a wink, which was answered with a grin. Maybe this kid would be a good playmate for Morty after all.

“We’re gonna go home, Morty,” he said, “and – and we’re gonna clean you up, and get you ready for bed. Y-y-you had a _day_ , huh?” He put his grandson back on his feet, and ruffled his sweaty hair. “Y-you messed up, and you got spanked, and now it’s all – everything’s good.”

Everything was not good. From the banquet hall, the initially excited noises of relief and surprise had now turned to something more like confusion and frustration. Rick glanced over his shoulder, and noted with dismay that security guards were leaving the banquet hall again. Maybe his fake hadn’t been convincing enough to buy him a full half hour. That was… not great.

“I’ll tell them you were with me the entire dinner,” Bisca said suddenly. “It’s fine. They won’t question me.” He smirked. “I’m considered a trusted servant.”

Rick guffawed. “Some – great judge of character, that Duchess, huh?”

Bisca shrugged, took Morty’s hand, and curtseyed before planting one final kiss on the back of it. Still bowing, he looked up at Morty, and said: “She’s never had a reason not to trust me before.”

This was good enough for Rick, and he reached for his portal gun, discreetly firing a portal out of the hotel receptionist’s line of sight. “Alright. Don’t – don’t let me find out you fucked us over.” This was followed by a menacing look. “There’s more where that came from, isn’t there, Morty?”

Exhausted, physically and emotionally, Morty nodded hard “Y-yeah--yes sir--a lot...a lot more.” His hand was still held by Bisca, and the back of his knuckles tingled where he’d been kissed. He fidgeted awkwardly, some embarrassment returning, in no small part due to his state of undress. “S-sorry uh...that--” Morty wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. But he was still bashful and more than a little flustered that Bisca had just witnessed him red bottomed and sobbing. Morty rubbed his nose, “If we--well, if you ever um… want to hang out again, because I do, uh...this won’t...happen.” He stiffened slightly and one hand went back to gently touch his ass, “Or, well, I should s-say I’ll behave better next time. If there _is_ a next time?”

He took his hand back from Bisca and glanced at the portal Rick fired. “B-but don’t feel like you gotta--you’re busy, and, and this was--probably, uh, _weird,_ so, you know.” Morty put on his best ‘cool guy playing hard to get’ face, which was entirely ruined by his red nose and puffy eyes and wet little curls stuck to his forehead. “And thanks for looking out for me earlier..”

“You're welcome,” Bisca said brightly, and he waved as Rick ushered Morty through the portal – only to suddenly remember something. His eyes shone brightly, and he called out: “Wait – Honey! How will I fin–”

But he was too late.


End file.
